


Metamorphosis

by thegrimshapeofyoursmile



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Dominus!Anders, Even though they have a fling in between again, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Anders/Hawke, Past Rape/Non-con, Roman AU, slave!Fenris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:19:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 33,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrimshapeofyoursmile/pseuds/thegrimshapeofyoursmile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roman AU. After saving Danarius from death by a strange illness, the Roman mage hands over his slave Fenris to Gothic spirit healer Anders as a gift of gratitude. Fenris, who has recently started to become violent and defensive against the terrible kind of love Danarius shows him, is completely unable to cope with the entirely different behavior Anders shows him. His new dominus is kind of tired from the world and kind of different from every other mage he has encountered so far. He does not want anything from Fenris, does not even treat him as a slave, and the more Fenris gets an inkling of what freedom may be, the more he finds himself wanting to know why Anders fled his home and why he is feared enough in the capital to be left alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PROLOGUE: Gratia

**Author's Note:**

> First and furthermost: I try to do my research as well as possible, but sometimes I just decide to include certain things and sometimes I don't. Which means that, for example, Anders is way ahead of his time and uses modern ways of cleaning himself. Or that not all slaves were treated the same in Ancient Rome, Fenris just had it very, very bad. This isn't really mentioned in this fic, I'm sorry.  
> There IS implied Rape/Non-Con in the past, please do not overlook this! Fenris' past is not very nice.  
> Please also take note that this Anders is practically a post Chantry boom Anders (just without the actual Chantry boom, of course),so he is more mature and much,much more controlled and balanced with Justice.  
> Last, but not least, English is not my native language. Please bear with me and yell whenever you find horrible spelling or grammar mistakes. 
> 
> As always, written for my darling.

"Well, this is not what I expected," Anders says and quirks an eyebrow at the elf kneeling in front of him. He is a magnificent example of his kind with strong muscles underneath dark skin. There are swirls of white on his body, coming together in a beautiful pattern. The spirit Anders harbors in his body smells the lyrium before he can even guess. 

He is also heavily bound with chains made with bloody-smelling Roman magic, collared, gagged and blindfolded. A slave readied to be taken over. Anders grunts and looks at Danarius, who watches him with a faint smile. "I don't take slaves." 

"Oh, but I couldn't give you a better reward for saving my life from this strange, terrible illness," Danarius answers smoothly, dark eyes glinting. "He is trained in many things, healer, and obedient like a lamb, my most prized slave. The time and money I spent on him should not be wasted. I am sure he will be to your liking." 

**He hides something.**

_I know_ , Anders replies quietly in his mind. No dominus would willingly give away such a valuable slave. There must be something wrong with him. He takes another look at the slave who doesn't even shift. Only the quiet rise and fall of his chest indicates that he is alive. **This is not training, Anders, this is more.** _I know._ "Why is he gagged?"

There is a slight hesitation before Danarius answers, "Lately he tends to try to bite. I considered taking out his teeth, especially because that would have advantages in bed as well, but this is easier to do."

"I see," Anders says slowly before crossing the arms in front of his chest. "So. What is the real reason you give him to me, especially since I didn't ask for a slave?" 

"I am fairly certain that he tried to poison me," Danarius answers cooly. Well. At least he doesn't try to bullshit Anders anymore. It also explains the dark marks on the slave's skin, the deep fingerprints burnt into his hips, his swollen arm indicating that it is broken. A last attempt to beat some sense into him, apparently.

**You have to take him with you, Anders.**

Anders grunts and turns away to hide his argument with Justice because sometimes it shows on his face when they disagree. He slowly wanders along the atrium, watching the elf from afar. _We have no use for a slave. I cannot and don't want to afford it._

**Anders. It is not just, leaving him here.**

_Another mouth to feed. Another body to dress. Another possibly broken mind I probably cannot mend-_

**He is an elf. He is hurt.**

Anders hesitates. Looks back at the slave who still hasn't moved an inch, even though he should have horrible muscle cramps by now. Justice hums softly. **He sings for me. Keep him.**

"Alright," Anders finally says and walks over to Danarius again. "I accept your... Gift. With a condition- and you owe me this." 

Something dark flashes in Danarius' eyes, but he nods lightly. "And what is this condition?" 

"You will never, ever come near me or my possessions again or I am going to make sure that you regret it. I am sure you have heard of what I am capable of doing." 

Danarius smiles briefly. There might be something like deep resentment mixed with the caution of a senator in his eyes for a moment. "Agreed." 


	2. CHAPTER ONE: Terror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So happy about all the feedback I got for the prologue! I hope the following won't disappoint ;_;  
> A few vocab explanations ahead!  
> terror=Lat. "fear"  
> dominus=Lat. "master (of the house etc)". Here, it is mostly used as a title for a free Roman citizen with slaves.  
> Donaws=A Gothic god, basically the Danube.  
> medicus animae= Lat. "physician of the soul", a Spirit Healer.
> 
> Enjoy!

They are all but dragging him out of Danarius‘ villa, which is probably due to the circumstance that the muscles in his legs are twitching uncontrollably after hours of being forced to kneel on the same spot. 

At this point, he doesn’t even care anymore. 

He can hear the sound of softly snorting horses and feels the rough cobblestone of the street underneath his feet before he gets pushed into something that is likely a movable cage. He gets splinters in both of his hands from the wood when he falls forward, chains dragging him down onto the ground of the cage. With a wince, Fenris sits up and gingerly cradles his hands towards his chest as much as the chains allow him. 

“There is no need for you to come with me, I can defend my own and he can’t even move properly.” The voice of his new owner is rich and quite accentuated despite his fluent Latin. He wasn’t born in Rome, then. Maybe he was born in one of the provinces. _A slave shouldn’t wonder about the origins of his dominus,_ Danarius’ voice says in his head, _A slave should only care about keeping his dominus well and satisfied._

He grits his teeth as much as the gag allows him when they roll on. With a sigh, he decides to make the best of it, leans his head back against the bars and closes his eyes behind the blindfold, wondering whether he is allowed to sleep or not. 

In the end, his bruised body solves it for him by simply collapsing into sleep.

//////

He wakes up by the sound of many people hustling and bustling around him and the sound of his cage being opened.

“Come,” His new dominus murmurs and Fenris tenses when two hands grab him and pull him out of the cage. He expects to be dragged, probably over the street into the house as well, but dominus is practical and not particularly violent. Maybe he wants to test him first. “Donaws, this is a mess. Come here.”

He is placed on something soft and suddenly his blindfold is pulled over his head and away, which startles him enough to make a tiny noise in the back of his throat. The first thing he sees is the man in front of him. He is tall, taller than even Danarius was, and his blond hair is bound back and long enough to graze his broad shoulders. His face is angular and unlike Roman custom, he is not clean-shaved; instead, there is slight, golden stubble on his jaw. He is wearing a toga, but it is simply white and not made out of silk or anything of the kind but a rather simple, almost rough fabric. Fenris is confused; he has never seen a dominus running around like this.

“My,” dominus says almost softly, “You have the pretty eyes of a cat.” When he extends a hand to place it on Fenris’ forehead, he immediately shies back and growls at him. This man might be a dominus, but he won’t submit to him without getting beaten hard enough to fall unconscious. Dominus stares at him for a moment, then he scowls back and yanks the gag out of his mouth. “What’s your name?”

“Fenris, domine,” Fenris answers because this man is a mage; he can feel it. The lyrium branded into his skin responds to his magic. There are worse things than beating him a mage can do to him if he doesn’t submit. Dominus watches him for a moment, amber eyes almost harsh, and sighs. 

“Bene,” He says, leans forward and flicks Fenris’ collar open, tossing it aside without much care. “I won’t allow anyone wearing collars and chains in this house.”

Fenris blinks at him and looks down, utterly confused. What does dominus want from him? He cannot make any sense out of his words. He shies back again when dominus touches his hands, frowns and wraps his hands around the shackles that bind him. Fenris bites his lips and tries to steel himself for the inevitable pain. He doesn’t close his eyes. Closing his eyes and not appearing grateful for what is done to him would be-

It doesn’t hurt.

The magic his new dominus uses is entirely different from the one Danarius used. It is warm, but it doesn’t burn. It is powerful, but he doesn’t get hurt. The only thing that he can feel is the chains being pried off from his wrists and his ankles and the weight that is suddenly lifted from him. He doesn’t trust this, but what he does or doesn’t is of no importance to anyone. 

“All done,” His dominus says and retreats a little. Fenris, startled and unsure, tries not to scoot away. Dominus makes a move towards him, almost as if to touch his shoulder, until he sighs and turns away. “I am a medicus animae,” He says slowly, “Do you know anything about medicine?”

“No, domine,” Fenris says quietly, causing dominus to sigh again. It is the first time he notices the room he is in. It is rather large and not very furnished, but clean. There are a good dozen beds in it, simple ones with simple blankets, and he sits on one of them. 

“Anders,” Dominus corrects him and sounds ultimately annoyed. “Call me Anders.”

Anders. Fenris frowns a little because that is a strange, strange name in these regions. It is not his place to wonder. He is nothing but a slave, even though he may have his value. “Yes, do-Anders.” It sounds foreign on his tongue.

“Very well,” Dominus grunts and touches the cut on his cheek, heals it just as quickly and efficiently as he heals his bruises and the arm that hurts and stings since he used it to block his face from hits. “Better?”

“Yes, Anders.”

“Donaws,” Dominus sighs in that strange, foreign language and rubs the stubble on his chin. “We’ll have to work on that. For now, let’s get you something to eat and a bath. You’re covered in cold sweat.”


	3. CHAPTER TWO: Crudelitas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello, welcome back to another chapter!  
> Some mini-glossary first, as always:  
> Ascane Wahtâri= Old High German (=OHG) Grey Wardens. I know OHG is still way newer than the Gothic Anders speaks, but this is the oldest form of German I can manage. Since it is German, I also decline it as such, please don't be confused if you encounter several varieties of the term.
> 
> Enjoy!

**He is thinking freely. There is hope.**

_Yes. I saw the way he frowned when I told him my name._ He risks a glance sideways at the elf, who is following him silently, with almost tired movements. "Come here."

Food supply is something Anders always keeps well-stocked because sometimes his hunger knows no bounds. When he thinks of the Ascanen Wahtâri, he clenches his teeth and moves towards one of the boards, fetching some bread for the poor sod.

"Here," He murmurs and ushers him towards a small table in the corner, sitting down on one of the two seats and offering him the other one. Fenris stares at him, wide-eyed and unmoving. It is unnerving. "What is wrong?"

Fenris shuffles his feet and lowers his gaze. "Servi are not supposed to sit with their domini." 

**Be kind, Anders.**

_I am always kind._ He ignores Justice's doubtful silence and rubs his temples. "Forget that rubbish. You will sit with me."

"Yes, Anders," Fenris murmurs and hesitantly sits down, curling into himself in an instant as if expecting that the seat would be set on fire. **He probably does.**

 _Shut up, Justice. I know._ "You look tense." 

Fenris lowers his head and says nothing, but Anders can catch something fierce in his eyes for a second. "Eat, Fenris. Tell me about your former dominus while doing so." He doesn't like saying 'former', outright hates it, but confusing the slave would be even crueler. 

Fenris nods and takes the bread to break it cleanly in two halves, hesitating before taking a bite, then another, swallowing as if starving. "Easy, easy, else you'll get sick," Anders remarks and watches the elf slow down. At least he has started to chew his food. Anders almost smiles. 

"What do you want to know, domi-Anders?" Fenris finally carefully asks, eyes still lowered to avoid accidentally looking into his face.

"Why did he really give you away?" 

The bread in Fenris' hand trembles a little when he carefully puts it down on the table again. His dark, smooth voice is quiet when he answers, "I misbehaved." 

"You misbehaved," Anders repeats and frowns. "How?"

The elf bites his lips and murmurs, "Recently I... Was violent when he took me."

 **Blood mages** , Justice whispers, his words burning like fire through Anders' body. **Do you see?** _Yes._ "When he took you. Do you mean this in a sexual context?"

"Yes, Anders." The elf doesn't look at him and then, he slowly, almost tentatively reaches out and starts eating again as if he had just told him about the weather.

"Did he ask you for your permission?" **Do you think he did?**

"I am a slave, domine," Fenris answers quietly and in confusion. "I have to serve. What I wish for matters not."

"Blasted-" He only notices he slammed his fist against the table and started swearing in his mother tongue when Fenris shies away, eyes startled and wild. **What do they deserve, Anders?** _Justice, please- we cannot do this. Not again. I am tired._ With a breath, Anders pulls himself together and clenches his teeth before he grits out, "He gave you away because you protested against being raped?" 

"I misbehaved. I bit him." One of Fenris' slender fingers briefly touches a spot on his upper arm where Anders healed a burn. "I didn't take care of his health, either. Instead I was... Bad."

"No, you were damn right," Anders growls and leans back. **What do they deserve, Anders?** "It's fine," He says a little gentler, "You are not going to be harmed here." 

Fenris looks at him as if he couldn't even grasp the concept, forlornly holding the second piece of bread in his hand. Anders gets up to get him some cheese as well as a knife and hands him both. "Here. You know how to use cutlery?" 

Fenris shakes his head. "Slaves are not allowed to-" 

"That's probably what your dominus told you, but generally spoken that is not true." **Is it really, Anders?** He leans over and gently places the knife in Fenris' fingers, carefully arranging them into the right grip while pretending not to feel Fenris' tension. "There. Now you just use the lower side, the sharp one, to cut off a piece." 

He hums in satisfaction when Fenris uses the knife with surprising elegance, grasping the concept right away and tearing into the cheese like the blade of an Ascan Wahtâri into rotten flesh. For a while, Anders watches him eat until he has completely devoured everything and hesitantly places the knife on the table, suddenly self-aware again. 

"Thank you, domine," He mumbles, eyes locked with the surface of the table again. Anders grunts and pushes himself up. Taking notice of the tense way Fenris holds himself is not that hard. He wonders what Fenris expects him to do now. Punish him because he ate? **Do you not think this is possible, Anders?**

"I won't hurt you if you look me in the eyes, you know," He tells him and smiles when Fenris hesitantly lifts his head and briefly looks at his chin. Close enough. **He will not show it, but he is terrified.** _I know._ "Let's just get you a bath." 


	4. CHAPTER THREE: Balneae

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again! I am so very happy about the continued interest in this, thank you all so much! *hands out cookies to everyone*  
> As always, a little mini glossary at the beginning!
> 
> infibulation: infibulation actually was a widely known practice in ancient Rome, even though it usually was done differently than the variety Danarius used on Fenris. As Anders said, he is an asshole. You can find more information at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Infibulation (I got the bit about the style Danarius uses from the German wikipedia side though- http://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Infibulation).
> 
> fibula: Lat. brooch
> 
> balneae: Lat. bath. Uh, the way Anders bathes in this fic is very, very modern and not at all how people in Ancient Rome cleaned themselves- they cleaned themselves by basically rubbing oil all over themselves and scraping it off together with all the dirt. That was one of the changes I made for this fic.
> 
> beds: This is, uh, probably completely irrelevant information, but it probably helps for better understanding? Anyways, back then, the beds for poorer people usually were not much more than masoned beds in the corner of a room. The only comfort came from the downy cushion. Yep. And the beds of the really rich people were made out of wood and even had something akin to a mattress. In this fic, Anders has at least provided some soft furs for every bed so that they're not THAT uncomfortable.
> 
> Now enjoy!

He called him domine.

Fenris anxiously wonders how his dominus is going to punish him for that slip while he follows him through the house. Who is dominus that he has his own bath? A slave shouldn't ask questions. 

"There we are," dominus says and ushers him into a room. There are several smaller baths, barely big enough for two or three people. It is unlike any bathing room Fenris has ever seen. 

"Take off that loincloth, will you? Meanwhile I'll prepare the bath." He smiles when Fenris gapes at him. "What is it?"

"Preparing baths is a slave's duty," Fenris says hesitantly. Dominus groans and rakes a hand through his blond hair. 

"Just undress yourself," He orders and turns away. Fenris does as he is told, folds the loincloth and carefully lays it on the floor while he watches dominus fill the bath with water before heating it with magic. Fenris doesn't know what to do now that he is naked as told, so he does what Danarius would have expected of him, sinks down on his knees, places his hands on them and bows his head.

"Ah," Dominus says when he turns around and sees him. Fenris tries to be good, tries not to shift but tenses when he can feel dominus kneel down beside him and place his hands on his thighs to shove them aside, opening him wide for his gaze. It is strange; he knows he should have expected this, knows that he should have known that his new dominus would want to use him for pleasure as well, but having another man's hand on the insides of his thighs is new. He bites the insides of his cheeks when dominus touches the delicate fibula that is pierced through his glans. A slave is not allowed to pleasure himself or give his seed to others. Danarius was always very possessive of him. 

"I am going to take this out," Dominus finally says. His teeth are gritted, but Fenris doesn't understand why. "Mîn got, this style of infibulation hasn't been used around here for centuries. Danarius is a fucking, sadistic asshole."

It is a slave's duty to defend his dominus and Fenris has already opened his mouth to do so when it hits him. 

Danarius isn't his dominus anymore and if Anders doesn't give him back he will never be again. 

He very carefully closes his mouth again. If dominus notices, he doesn't let it show. Instead, he gently opens the fibula and tugs it out before Fenris can even blink. It hurts, gods, does it hurt, and he whimpers as loud as he can because sometimes Danarius enjoyed his sounds of pain enough to spare him. Anders, however, only frowns deeper, carefully wraps a hand around Fenris' cock with methodical, medical practice and murmurs something. Magic, clean, golden magic flows through him and heals him up, eases the pain until he can breathe again. 

"All is well," Dominus murmurs and releases him to gently stroke his thigh until Fenris has gotten himself together again. There is something blue flashing through dominus' eyes for quite longer than a moment and Fenris quickly looks away. He doesn't know what this is. It is not his place to know as well. "That healed up nicely. You should be able to go into the water without feeling pain." 

"Thank you, Anders," Fenris murmurs, feeling ashamed and unsure. He doesn't know what to do to pay his dominus back; he doesn't hurt him by using the lyrium branded into his skin and he has given him no sign that he wants to fuck him. Sure, he touched his cock, but it happened in such a clinical, sterile manner without any sexual reaction from dominus that it just confuses him.

"I am a healer," Dominus says, grasps the fibula and burns it between his fingers without even looking at it. "That is my job. Come on." 

He _helps_ Fenris into the bath. The water is warm, but it doesn't burn him; Fenris finds himself relax carefully and turns towards his dominus. Dominus hums, his eyes a warm brown again, and sits down on the edge of the bath and ignores that his toga gets soaked. "Domine- your toga-"

"I hate that thing," Dominus says dismissively and reaches for a sponge, urging him closer. Fenris remembers Danarius grooming and petting him, which was always nice, in a way, so he inches closer and lets dominus wash his face. "Where I come from, we wear different things. A toga is useless. I can't even use my right hand properly because I have to hold the end of the damned thing with my arm! That's why I only wear it when I deal with members of the senate."

Fenris does not know what dominus expects him to say, so he just bows his head and says nothing. Dominus is gentle while he washes him, leaving no spot uncleaned. His touches do not linger anywhere longer than necessary; Fenris wonders if dominus does not find him attractive. He has no idea how he should bring him pleasure if that is the case, but he cannot ask either. A slave does not say anything without being prompted. 

"You look nervous," Dominus remarks and searches his face. Fenris holds his gaze for a while because he was allowed to and finds it surprisingly difficult. "What is bothering you?" 

"I-" Fenris begins and instinctively lowers his eyes again so he at least cannot see the blow when it comes and react on it. "I was wondering if you don't find me attractive." 

Dominus is silent for a while and the hit never comes, but he sighs again. "You shouldn't worry about that. I won't touch you without your consent. Come on now, let's get you to bed. It has been a long day for both of us." 

He gets up and helps Fenris out of the bath, _helps_ him and dries him off with a quick spell. "You need other clothes as well," He mutters while he leads Fenris outside again through the atrium to the other side. Pulling aside a curtain, he steps inside the room and motions Fenris to follow. The room is small, but clean. There is a bed in it, not overly big, but big enough to comfortably hold a single person, and a cupboard. Fenris blinks and remembers Danarius' lavishly decorated bed chamber with a bed made out of wood and expensive furs instead of the stony variety of the poor he finds here. Surely this cannot be where his new dominus sleeps? He looks at the spot of floor in front of the bed and knows that sleeping there will not be overly comfortable. 

"I know it is not much," Dominus says, "But the only other real bedroom is mine. This one has to be enough."

Fenris blinks again and thinks he does not understand. "This is... Mine?"

"Yes," Dominus says and shrugs. "Just get some rest. If you need something, I am in my bedroom, the one two doors away from yours. Good night." 

He is out of the room before Fenris can say anything else. Fenris stares after him, his blood rushing in his ears. This has to be a trap. The problem is just that he is unable to see which behavior will let him avoid it.


	5. CHAPTER FOUR: Insomnium de ignem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, but here we are, once again! Thank you all so much for your new and continued interest, I love you all <3  
> Mini glossary:  
> Insomnium de ignem: Dream of fire  
> Subligaculum: the Ancient Roman underwear, basically.  
> Frauja: A very old, Germanic form of Freya, basically.  
> Hel: The Norse/Germanic realm of the dead.  
> fibulae: the plural form of fibula, Lat. brooch/brooches.  
> Enjoy!

Entering the Fade is seldom pleasant these days, at least not for him- Justice longs for him to dream so they can enter the Fade. Battling Anders' Taint and the usual demons is a small price to pay for the pleasure of coming home for a while.

The quiet chant pulls on his insides while he wades in blood, trousers torn and shirt red. His dreams are dreams of death; Justice tries to keep much realer threats at bay. Anders watches him float forward, a shining image of a man with a long, torn coat flapping in the wind and a winged helmet. It is the body Anders remembers from the day he stumbled across the battlefield, deadly wounded and tripping over corpses when he saw the quiet, ghost-like appearance with eyes hollow and glowing like death, with long, unhurried strides as he walked towards Anders, a quiet song on his lips, the song of magic. 

He called for Justice and Justice came- and oh, they both made sacrifices for this arrangement, but this is their faith. There is no other way. 

As always, he wakes up when everything goes up in flames, heart hammering in his chest like a captured dog against the bars of its prison. With a groan, he runs a hand over his face before he gets out of bed. Justice is quiet in the back of his head when Anders walks over to the trunk that holds his clothes. He dresses himself in a subligaculum, plain trousers made of brown buckskin and a roughly woven white shirt before slipping into his sandals. The simple procedure is enough to calm his mind; it is not the first time he deals with unpleasant dreams and it is not going to be the last one, so he has some experience at dealing with it.

When he turns around to walk out of his room, Justice decides to speak up. **The slave, Anders. He needs clothes.**

"Right." Anders kneels down in front of the trunk again and rifles through it. After a while, he finds a simple, black tunic with grey patterns along the lower seam. With a satisfied nod, he grabs another subligaculum and the tunic and makes his way out of the room over to the small one he gave Fenris.

**Fenris** , Justice hums, **He smells like magic, Anders. Smells like the Fade.**

"I know. You tell me all the time."

**He smells like magic, Anders. He is good for us.**

_Having this much of pure lyrium at hand could prove to be handy, yes. I will ask him if he wants to assist me with the patients after I got him something to eat._

"Fenris?" He calls and waits a second before he enters- only to stop right in the entrance. Fenris lays curled up on the floor in front of the bed, head hidden behind his arms and apparently sound asleep. Anders looks at him, uncomprehending, before he kneels down beside him and gently shakes him. Fenris jolts awake, hands curled into claws and green eyes wide and filled with a mixture of fear and aggression. 

"Fenris," Anders asks with a sigh, careful of Fenris' body language that is just like a caged warrior's, even though the man himself may not realize it. "Why in Frauja's name are you lying on the floor? Have you slept on this spot for the entire night?" 

Fenris briefly bites his lips before he relaxes his hands and nods, eyes still blazing. 

"Why?" Anders asks because he honestly doesn't understand. "There is a perfectly fine bed behind you!"

"The only bed a slave is allowed to sleep is his dominus', if he is allowed to, otherwise his spot is the floor." Fenris hesitates for a second before he almost forcefully adds, "I thought it was a trap."

"Fenris," Anders says and massages the root of his nose. "Listen to me very carefully, now. Everything in this room is yours now and you can use it however you like. That means you can light this candle if you want some light, you can sleep in this bed, you can put your things on this shelf- Hel, if you want to, you can fuck yourself with that candle for all I care, though I would not recommend it." 

Fenris stares at him; his eyes are still wide, but they look confused now until realization slowly dawns in them. "This... Is mine?"

"Yes. And this is yours as well." He places the tunic and the subligaculum on the bed and smiles at the elf. "Dress up. When you're done, follow me into the eating room, alright?"

"Yes, Anders." Fenris looks utterly overwhelmed and Anders watches him for another moment to make sure he won't collapse before he walks out of his chamber and into the room where he stores food and also eats. It is not very Roman, but he doesn't care much; his mother was a Germanic woman and he is his mother's son, always has been. While he prepares some fruit, honey, bread and milk, Fenris all but slides into the room, so quietly that Anders needs a moment to even notice him. When he does, however, he has to stifle a laugh because he has completely overlooked the fact that Fenris is much smaller and slimmer than him. The elf practically swims in the tunic, but his chin is raised in dignity.

"I forgot your shoes," Is the first thing he brings out and Fenris startles a little, looking at his naked feet as if he saw them for the first time. Anders can't help it; the image of the elf in his too-big clothes looking at his feet like a surprised cat in the rain is amusing enough that he snorts with laughter. It is a refreshing feeling; he has not laughed for a long while. The way Fenris self-consciously tugs at the tunic, however, makes him sober up quite quickly and he clears his throat. "I am sorry. Come here. You look a little silly, but that's entirely my fault. Let's try to fix this up a little."

Fenris steps close enough that Anders can reach for him and he does, pulling out some fibulae and his hairband to correct the position of the tunic. When he is done, it is still too wide around Fenris' slim frame, but it looks way better. "There you go. Now we'll take care of your weight and feed you regularly, then it will work. Maybe we'll look at the market today, see if we can get you your own. For now, eat some breakfast, people are waiting for us and you need the energy."

"Domine," Fenris says hesitantly, still not managing to look Anders straight in the eyes. "I.... Would like to beg you that... I don't need shoes. I like..." The tips of his ears become bright red and Anders watches them in fascination.

**He asked you for something, Anders. He does not wish to walk around in shoes. The one who smells like magic can be repaired.**

"You don't like walking around in shoes?" Anders asks slowly because he wants to make sure that he is right. When Fenris nods, eyes downcast, he continues, "Well if you prefer it that way, so be it. However, you should at least let me put some bandages around them whenever we walk outside this house. The streets of Rome are sometimes quite dangerous for feet. And don't call me domine, Fenris, you can call me Anders."

"Yes, Anders," Fenris says, fidgeting a little and not looking up. "I am sorry. Thank you."

He slips on his seat all on his own.


	6. CHAPTER FIVE: Cum multo agilitate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank youuuu all for your AMAZING feedback, I am so happy that people continue to like this story!  
> As alway, a mini-glossary at the beginning.  
> Cum multo agilitate: With great speed  
> valetudinarium: hospital/clinic
> 
> Have fun reading!

Fenris slowly gets the feeling that dominus is not entirely right in his head. 

He feels guilty for thinking these thoughts, but sometimes when dominus talks animatedly his facial expressions change so rapidly as if he was constantly trying to be two different persons. He also mutters to himself when he thinks Fenris is not listening or, as it is now the cause, forgets about Fenris’ presence entirely.

However, dominus looks calm when he stands in the area of the house he calls his valetudinarium, the clinic, greeting his patients with obvious warmth in his soft voice. He knows almost every person coming through the door by name and Fenris is- surprised, to say the least, because dominus is a powerful healer and the people he treats are the lowest, poorest citizens in Rome. He doesn’t even treat exclusively free citizens. 

He shows elves the same respect that he shows towards humans. 

Fenris does not understand. Elves are considered second-rate citizens, even if they are gifted with magic; no mage Fenris knows would even spare them a glance if they are not their slaves. Dominus smiles at them as if they were his equal; Fenris even watches him pat the knee of an adolescent elven boy before ruffling his hair. He starts when dominus looks up from a patient with a nasty, infected head wound and waves him over. Hastily he makes his way over towards him and bows lightly. “Yes, Anders?”

“I could need an assistant,” Dominus says without preamble and looks at him with his amber eyes. “Would you mind helping me?”  
Fenris blinks a little, wondering at the question. He is a slave, isn’t he? Refusing to do anything his master tells him to do is worth a punishment- but then again, dominus was not even mad when he asked not to wear shoes. Maybe he--- “I…I don’t know if I can be of much help. I am no mage and I have never-“

“Doesn’t matter,” Dominus says dismissively and gently heals the patient’s wound. “You don’t need any special skills for the tasks I would like you to help me with. The beds, for example- they all need to be washed, all of this has to be clean. I could save so much time if you could be so nice and do that for me.”

“Of course,” Fenris says, shuffling away while being utterly confused at the tone dominus uses towards him- as if he was an _equal_ , someone dominus has to _ask_ for doing him a _favor_. Fenris simply does not understand and he tries to wrap his mind around it while he fetches a sponge and some water from the well in the middle of the atrium. Dominus’ house is strange for a Roman, but he does not mind much; dominus is not very Roman overall. Cleaning the beds, simple, wooden constructs that are not very comfortable but serve their purpose well, is a dull task, but it allows him to let his mind wander. It is a foreign concept; he never had time to think or even wanted to before, with Danarius. Glancing at his dominus, who is speaking softly to a silently crying, older woman, he wonders if dominus would be mad at him for asking questions. 

If he knew which questions he wants to ask, that is. 

“Fenris?” He looks up, startled by the sudden close proximity and almost knocks the potions in dominus’ hands on the floor. Before they can crash, however, he has already caught them mid-air after a mad dash, cradling them awkwardly against his chest before offering them back to dominus. He hopes dominus is not mad, but he ducks his head nevertheless.

“Thank you,” Dominus says after a small silence and takes the potions from him. When Fenris dares to look up to him, he sees him frown thoughtfully at him. “You have excellent reflexes. Did Danarius train you as a gladiator?”

“No, Anders.” What an odd question. He is a dog; nobody in their right mind would teach a dog how to bite. Better remove its teeth instead. Dominus looks at him for a while longer before he lets his gaze wander through the mostly empty valetudinarium and nods, as if having made a decision. 

“Follow me,” He says and wanders out of the valetudinarium. Fenris follows him and cannot help but notice the way dominus holds himself. He doesn’t walk like Danarius always did, Danarius, who strutted rather than walked, exposing his expensive fibulae and the even more expensive fabric of his toga, exposing his wealth and his power and almost vibrating. Dominus walks quietly, but unhurriedly, with his head high and his back straight. He walks like a man who has nothing to prove anymore, walks like a man who does not give a damn about prestige. Fenris… likes it.

When they reach the garden, dominus stops and bends down to flip open a trunk, chuckling while he does. “I haven’t done this for a long, long while. I keep these here mostly to keep boys distracted while I treat their parents. Makes things so much quieter inside the valetudinarium.” Fenris blinks when Dominus pulls out a wooden sword and throws it towards him; he catches it without a thought, staring at it disbelievingly. When he looks up, he can see Dominus playing around with a similar wooden sword, giving him an almost cheerful grin. Dominus rarely smiles besides giving a tired lifting of the corners of his mouth; he looks nice when he is cheerful, not very intimidating like he should be. “Don’t judge me, I never was good at hand combat, I have to admit.” The blue flash is in his eyes again for a moment and Fenris finds himself fascinated. “It will have to suffice.”

He attacks without any warning.

Fenris knows he should be staggering backwards, knows he should drop and take the blow, another, if dominus wants to deal it to him. Instead, his body reacts almost on its own and he twists himself out of dominus’ attacking rage, whirling around with ease. It is a little like dancing, he thinks, and dancing he practiced an awful lot. Dominus whirls around as well, surprisingly fast for a man his size, and chuckles almost maniacally, eyes twinkling. A strand of hair is falling lose into his forehead, but he doesn’t even seem to notice when he says, “Very good, Fenris, mîn got, this is very good--- parade me, like this—“ He shows Fenris, and Fenris mimics his actions. 

It feels----

“Good,” Dominus pants, stepping back a little and then pulling the shirt over his head to throw it away. Fenris cannot help but stare- dominus is covered in scars, ugly ones even. No mage Fenris knows has the scars of a warrior. Mages do not have to defend themselves from such a small distance; they do not get their hands dirty like that. A strange symbol is branded right into the skin above dominus’ heart; for a second Fenris thinks it is a slave symbol- then he discovers that it is a gryph, a bright, proud thing with open wings and a beak opened for attack. He stares for a little too long and dominus catches him unguarded, throwing him off his feet with a blood-curdling scream that covers Fenris’ arms in goose bumps. It hurts a little, landing face-first in the dirt, and he closes his eyes, feels dominus’ breath against his ear and tries to relax because surely dominus wants to take him now, he can feel his arousal—

Then dominus gets up, closes a hand around his wrist and pulls him upwards. When Fenris raises his head, dominus laughs and he looks bright and golden, shining in the sunlight, almost unreal. 

“Looks like you’re not a healer, Fenris,” He says and his eyes are still smiling, “You’re a killer.”


	7. CHAPTER SIX: Dolor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaand here we are with another chapter! Thank you all for your lovely feedback and your attention!  
> As always, a mini-glossary, this time really, really mini!  
> herbarium=basically the place Anders grows his herbs at.  
> atrium=a courtyard in the middle of a typical Ancient Roman villa.
> 
> Enjoy reading :)

**You enjoy this regular sparring with the elf.**

Anders smiles and thinks that Justice’s still slow understanding of how real people work is a little amusing. Then again, he does not think that he will ever be able to fully figure out the world of spirits and demons. It is simply not possible- they are too different beings and so Justice and Anders are their respective guides who have sometimes trouble with communicating with each other. This time, however, Justice is right. _Yes. You have fun too, admit it._ As much as a spirit can follow the concept of having fun, at least. Justice was surprisingly content the last days, surprisingly silent.

**He has potential** , Justice says without admitting it, the old spoilsport. **You have to continue training him.**

_I will. Do you think he liked it?_

**Yes, Anders. Soon he will best us.**

Anders grunts and looks down at the plants in front of him. He loves his herbarium, he truly does; it is small, but well-stocked. Most of the herbs he needs for potions and salves are grown here and he tries to take care of them as well as he can. This day is nice and warm and perfect for working in the herbarium. 

Behind him, something crashes.

When he turns around, he finds Fenris staring wide-eyed at a crashed pot in front of his feet. When he finds Anders looking at him, he immediately drops to his knees and whispers, “I am sorry.”

“Well, I didn’t like that one anyways,” Anders says. **Why are you lying to him?** Spirits do not understand the concept of lies; sometimes it is a blessing, sometimes it is a curse. _Mercy._ He gets up and helps Fenris pick up the shards, carefully placing them aside before looking at the elf again who still sits hunched forward on the soil. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Fenris says quickly and tenses even more. 

“What is wrong?”

Fenris does not speak for a while before he says, very softly, “I am sorry. I didn’t want to- I am sorry. Please…” He does not finish the sentence, but bows his head instead. Anders looks at his white hair, resists the urge to touch it and sighs. He has been better the other day, actually practically ran into the atrium where they have decided to hold their regular training, green eyes glowing when he flung his lithe body against Anders in the new, black tunic Anders bought for him. Now, however, he seems to have retreated back into the pattern Anders seemingly cannot break him out of, no matter how hard he tries. 

_I am tired. No matter what I do, it is never--_

**Anders. Move, Anders. There are still things to do, just other things than back then.**

_\---Yes. Other things._

“I won’t hurt you,” He says out loud and forces himself to smile. Sometimes it does not come easy to him, these days. It was way easier when he was young. “I told you, there will never be a punishment in this house for you.” He watches the elf for a while longer before he reaches out and ruffles his hair. Fenris shies back as expected, looking at him with wide eyes again before he tentatively reaches up and flattens it again. Anders smiles at that; this time, it comes easily to him. “I guess gardening is not really your thing, is it?”

The tips of Fenris’ ears turn red and he scoffs a little, causing Anders to smile again because there it is, the spark he tries to turn into a lively, good flame before Fenris can discover the hurt and rage inside him and turn it into something ugly, something unforgivable. The gods know that Anders has his experience with that. 

**Gone.**

_Not in my mind. Not in my heart. Not for me, and not for you._ Justice is silent at that. Anders did not expect anything else. There must be something in his face because Fenris watches him with that weary look he sometimes gets when he wants to ask things but does not dare. “What is it?”

“I just… Forgive me, you just look tired sometimes.”

“I am.” Anders rubs his chin, sighs and gets up, wincing at the way his knees creak after crouching for a while. He does not get any younger and life weighs hard on him. 

**Move. You are not dead yet, do not act like you are.**

_You always say the sweetest things, you flatterer._

**I do not know what flattery is.** The sad thing about that is that it is entirely true, even though Anders sometimes suspects that Justice has become more human in the years after the Unsaid where they finally figured most things out between them than he lets on. “Don’t think about it, I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Domine?”

Anders has given up on lecturing him about that. Sometimes Fenris remembers to call him Anders, sometimes he does not. Maybe one time the day will come where he forgets entirely about it, but Anders doubts that day will be soon. For now, he is simply content that Fenris speaks to him without having been prompted before. “Yes?”

“May I… May I ask you something?”

Anders looks at Fenris in surprise. This is the first question Fenris has ever directed at him. “Of course you can.” With a playful smile, he adds, “I can still decide whether I want to answer it or not after I heard it.”

Fenris looks down on the soil as if he is not so sure about asking his question anymore before Anders watches him lift his chin for just the tiniest, smallest movement, but it is undoubtedly there, and then Fenris asks, “Why do you never use a staff, Anders?”

All joy about Fenris taking this important step instantly vanishes. For a moment, Anders thinks of the trunk in his bedroom he has not opened for years now, thinks of the things it holds, and bites the insides of his cheeks. 

**Gone. Not lost.**

_For me, it is. I will never go back to that._

**We will see.** “Why do you ask?” 

“I never… I never saw a mage without a staff,” Fenris says hesitantly, apparently sensing the change in Anders’ mood and testing him. Slaves have a good sense for mood swings; they have to. Anders feels a little sick. “I just… I didn’t want to pry, I know it is not my--- I was merely curious and you said I could ask you anything I want.” His voice trails off, but his eyes, green and big like a cat’s, pierce right through him, betraying the hesitance in his pose. 

“For healing, my hands usually are enough since I don’t heal from distance,” Anders replies and winces a little at the strain in his voice. Images well up in his mind; Hawke, strong and powerful with his blade, Varric, loyal and skilled with Bianca in his hands, Isabela, beautiful and wild like the sea her heart belongs to. Ice rain and a sea of fire, combined casts and powerful spells; powerful, powerful magic humming through his body, the faint pull of the magic he uses nowadays like an infant to an adult in comparison. Justice hums, unfurling at the memory. **We were good. We were majestic. The world was ours.** _We were insane. We were poisoned. The things we did cannot be undone._ “I don’t… I made some mistakes when I was younger. I…freely chose not to use a staff any longer, please don’t- don’t ask me why.” 

“I apologize, domine,” Fenris says quietly, already withdrawing a little at the things he sees in Anders’ face. “I shall see to my other duties now. I am sorry for asking.” 

Anders, unable to do anything against it, watches him retreat into the back rows of his herbarium and instead of talking to him, making clear that it is not and never will be Fenris’ fault, he finds himself fleeing into the house and hates himself for it. 


	8. CHAPTER SEVEN: Bestia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus, I am really lame with updating, sorry, sorry, sorry! Thank you all so much for your lovely feedback, I hope the update, however late, won't disappoint!  
> As always a mini glossary:  
> bestia: Lat. wild animal/creature, monster  
> valetudinarium: Lat. clinic

Fear. There was blank fear in dominus’ face when he spoke of his staff.

Fenris wonders what dominus has done in the past that it made him retreat into the house, but he does not dare ask any more questions. After all, he is still nothing but a slave, even though dominus shows him unexpected kindness most days, and it is not his place to know. 

Still, he wonders.

Dinner is a quiet affair, even more so than usual because dominus seems lost in thoughts and does not even try to make conversation like he usually does. It reminds Fenris of the first three or four days when he wondered why there are no servants or other slaves in this house, until he started to notice that dominus spends all the money he has for the valetudinarium, for his patients- and for himself and Fenris. His house may be surprisingly big for the area they live in, but dominus expects no payment from most of his patients and so money is always a little tight.

Since Fenris does not know what he could possibly talk about and is not sure if dominus even wants him to, he keeps silent as well, just watching dominus' face to find out the exact moment where he will hit him. 

Except that dominus does not hit him, does he, and he should not even wait for him to do so. Dominus is difficult sometimes, very difficult to figure out, but so far he has kept every promise he has made towards Fenris, which is startling, really. Relying on this, however, is hard and probably pretty unwise; if he decides to fully rely on it, the blow that is inevitably going to come at some point is going to hurt even more. 

"Well, it has been a long day," Dominus says after a while with a sigh. He does not eat laid down as it is Roman custom; instead, they both sit on a table and it is strange, but not unwelcome. "Let's go to bed after treating your muscles."

That has become a strange ritual in the last days, ever since they started training. To be honest, Fenris does not know why dominus teaches him how to fight in the first place; he has no staff he wants to use, his magical abilities are therefore limited, as are his abilities when it comes to hand-to-hand combat. Fenris is a fast learner, it is something he has always taken pride in and was occasionally even praised for. Why, Fenris wonders while he follows dominus into his room, would dominus give him so much power? It must be a trap- but just like all the other traps dominus has set for him, he cannot figure out how to avoid it. 

Dominus sits down on Fenris' bed, reaches for the salve he put on the shelf in the small room and urges him over. Fenris obliges, sits down beside him and peels the tunic off of his shoulders. Dominus coats his fingers with the salve and starts to massage it into Fenris' sore shoulder muscles. Fenris tries to relax and breathe; the truth is that he still waits for dominus to push him face-first into the mattress and just take him. Instead, dominus is nothing but professional while he works the salve with gentle, experienced movements into Fenris' shoulders, back, and arms. 

When he is done and puts the small pot back onto the shelf, Fenris can feel goosebumps crawling over his arms and does not know why. 

"All done," Dominus says and smiles before he gets up. "Good night."

"Good night, Anders," Fenris says. For a second, dominus hesitates, eyes briefly glancing over his face and chest. There is longing in his eyes, Fenris knows that look well, and his stomach tightens. Surely now he is going to---

With a groan, dominus turns and leaves the room without another word. Fenris stares after him, uncomprehending, before he slowly slips out of his tunic, folds it carefully and puts it on the shelf as well. When he slips underneath the blanket, he still does not understand why dominus has not touched him. 

Sleep comes wearily to him and when it does, it fills him with ghosts of dreams, whispers of images that smear like ink in water when he tries to grasp them, form them into something solid. When he wakes, it is to the sharp feeling that something is terribly, terribly wrong with dominus. He could not say where this feeling comes from, only that he drew it from his dreams into the real world, and it is probably stupid and unwelcome, but it makes him get out of bed, pull the tunic over his head in haste and move over into dominus’ bedroom, his lyrium markings alight. 

It only occurs to him that this is the first time he sees the room when he is already standing in front of dominus’ bed.

The room is bigger than Fenris’, but this was expected. For the first time, Fenris gets the sense that dominus might take pleasure in beauty despite usually relying on function rather than appearance in all other aspects. This room, however, has been designed with care. There is a trunk on one of the walls, a big, sturdy thing with iron enforcements and intricate patterns on its latch. The same gryph spreading its wings on dominus’ chest is branded into the front of the trunk. The walls are painted with wide, open scenery from a country Fenris has never seen. There is a dark rug in front of the bed that is built into a corner, fur from an animal Fenris does not recognize, but it is soft underneath his feet when he shuffles closer to the bed in which dominus is laying on several furs that make the stone underneath him more comfortable, curled up into himself and whimpering. There is no apparent threat, however, just bad dreams, and Fenris is about to turn around and leave, knows he should, but somehow he does not.

Dominus’ face is pained, as if he was being hit, and the noises that escape his throat are bordering on insane. Something in Fenris reels back at that look; something in Fenris whispers to him to take that chance, to kill dominus and flee. But what would he do then? A slave who kills his master is practically dead. Besides that, dominus has always been kind to him, from the moment on he took him in. In a way, dominus has bound him more than Danarius ever could, and this is the exact moment where Fenris starts to hate him a little for that.

Still, he stays.

He does even more than that because he dares to gently touch dominus’ shoulder, yelping when dominus jolts upwards, one of his big hands closing itself around Fenris’ wrists. He opens his eyes, but they are glowing blue instead of the usual light brown and Fenris watches with something like horror when blue cracks appear in dominus’ body and suddenly, he knows.

Dominus is an abomination.

The fear that curses through him is sharp and intense, filling his mouth with a bitter taste, and he jerks away in a nameless instinct to survive, tries to pry dominus’ hand off him, the light of his lyrium brandings flaring up--- and then the blue glow is gone, just like that, and dominus gasps for breath, draws him closer until Fenris can smell the tears on his face.

Dominus says something in a hard, unknown language, but despite the hard syllables it comes out soft and pleading, just like the look in his not-quite awoken eyes as he slowly drags Fenris into his bed. Fenris follows because his dominus commands it, and his dominus is a monster he cannot possibly best, what else could he do? He shivers when the abomination wraps its arms around him and pulls him against its warm, firm chest, slides a leg over his and holds him close. 

Fenris breathes, tries to but struggles. He can feel dominus’ body hot and heavy against his own and he bites his tongue until he draws blood to fight the upcoming illness. So this it, he thinks when dominus’ hand rests on his back, trying to lie still to not enrage him—it. He waits to be rolled onto his stomach and forced on all fours, waits to be cut, blood flowing all over him while the mage licks it off him, abuses his sensitive lyrium brandings until he cries in pain---

Instead, dominus’ breath softens out and he clings to him like a child that is afraid of the dark. Fenris waits, but nothing ever happens, and he lies there in the dark and waits and does not understand how a monster can still show more mercy than his former dominus.


	9. CHAPTER EIGHT: Tactio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annd finally a new chapter, yay! \o/ Thank you for all your lovely feedback, I hope you like the new update :)  
> As always, a mini-glossary!  
> tactio: Lat. "touch"

When Anders wakes up, he cannot remember what he dreamed. It is strange because the last time he has slept deeply enough to forget his experiences in the Fade has been ages ago. The world comes into focus slowly this time; even Justice appears almost sleepy, withdrawn and satisfied. For the first time in a long while, he wakes up hard and aching in a most pleasant way. 

With a soft groan, he opens his eyes- and finds himself curled around Fenris, which, well, explains a lot. For a moment, he lays quiet and unmoving, staring at the small, white hairs in Fenris’ neck and wondering why he is here, in his arms, in his bed.

**He came at night, while you were sleeping. He saw us.**

_Saw…Us?_

**I tried to defend you. You called me. We thought there was danger. I could not know that it was the elf.**

_Maker. We attacked him?_ There is fear gripping at Anders’ heart, slowly pulsing through his body and closing off his throat. Slowly, carefully, he touches Fenris’ shoulder and bites his lips when Fenris wakes with a jolt, does not dare to move but trembles under his touch. 

**We did not attack him. As soon as I saw him, I went back.**

The whole thing is a mess, but then again, he should be used to that. His whole life has never been anything but a single big mess, so why should it be different now?

**Do not wallow in self-pity.**

_If I want to wallow, I goddamn will._ At least his erection has faded into nothingness. What a surprise. Calm now, he has to be completely calm and collected to fix this. He ever so gently touches Fenris’ shoulder again, a little firmer this time, and tries not to wince when Fenris flinches as if he had hit him. “Fenris. Please turn around.”

There is slight hesitation, but then Fenris turns around in his arms, still not looking into his face. Anders quickly withdraws his hands and brings a little space between them, smiling sadly while he does so. How beautiful it would be to have a lover again, only if for a night. He has been alone for too long, perhaps, even though it is for the best. “Would you look at me, please?”

There is another slight hesitation until Fenris lifts his gaze, surprising him with the fierce burn in his eyes. 

**Fear.**

_And hatred._ He knows that expression well enough to be able to guess and it makes his heart heavy; he has never wanted this.

**Perhaps.**

He steels himself and looks Fenris straight into his eyes. “I know what you saw last night.”

Fenris presses his lips together in a surprising expression of anger and fear he has not seen on him until now. Maybe it is a good sign, Anders thinks with grim humor. Still, he says nothing, just meets Anders’ gaze without blinking and waits.

“I don’t know why you came in here, but I am sorry for having frightened you,” He continues and tries not to look at the long line of Fenris’ neck, the white pattern on his skin, almost frivolous for his magic, humming and singing to him, to Justice. “I am no abomination, as you may fear.”

“I saw the way you glowed,” Fenris answers with his deep, rich voice and Anders should probably be happy that he is speaking without being prompted, but then Fenris continues, “I saw the way your eyes turned blue and your skin cracked open as if something in you tried to get out of the vessel it inhabited.”

He trembles and without thinking about it, Anders reaches out and puts a hand on his cheek. Fenris flinches again, but like any other slave would have done as well, he does not move away from his touch. Thinking about what Fenris probably expects him to do now that he has him in his bed makes him nauseous. 

With a deep inhale, he answers very calmly, “I am not possessed by a demon, Fenris.” Not anymore at least, not if he can prevent it, but that is a story for another time. “I harbor a spirit in my body, not a demon. Spirits are different from demons; they do not feed on human emotions and they usually have no desire to leave the Fade. Justice, my spirit, was a little unlucky; he was caught in this world, in a body that was slowly rotting away. I was….I was young, and half-dead, and afraid of dying.” Memories come in flashes to him and he has to clench his teeth for a while until the force of remembering eases. “We helped each other. You have nothing to fear. He- we both haven’t harmed you until now, that is not going to change in the future.”

Fenris is silent for a long, long while. His gaze is still mistrusting and skeptical, but at least he does not look afraid and full of hatred anymore. Anders watches him for a while, resists the urge to come closer, breathe in his smell and just hold him and waits. 

“Domine,” He finally says and his voice is quiet, but clear. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Anders says a little surprised and wonders what will come now.

“I am in your bed,” Fenris says after another long while and avoids his gaze. “I-I already woke up one time before you touched me and you were- you were hard, but you didn’t make use of me when you woke. I just- I don’t understand. Am I not appealing to you? I still don’t know how to please you and I have been with you for two weeks now.”

“I-What?” Anders asks and feels completely confused. He expected questions about Justice, maybe about how he met him, but certainly not this. Fenris’ ears flush red and Anders almost touches them in wonder. 

“I…” Fenris hesitates, then he presses forward, “I don’t believe you when you say you don’t harbor a demon but a spirit and that there is a difference. I have…I have watched dominus Danarius using demons to fuel his power and to punish younger, weaker mages. I have seen a lot of abominations. The only thing I don’t understand is why I haven’t noticed before, but I am just a slave, not even gifted with magic, so I don’t try to understand. Even if it is true what you say, I cannot change the circumstances, I am yours until you decide to give me away. What I…What I cannot comprehend is just that…You have no lover or matrona to take care of your physical needs. Yet you never take me into your bed except last night and even then you just… Held me? I don’t…Nobody ever… Why don’t you ever take me?”

“Fenris,” Anders says very gently, puts a finger underneath Fenris’ chin and lifts it up. He distinctly remembers that having a ridiculously attractive guy in his bed used to be very different from what he has now. “Do you want me to sleep with you?”

“I want everything you want, domine. I want everything you want me to.”

“See,” Anders says, releases him and throws away the blankets to get up with a deep sigh. And the day started so nice. “And that’s exactly why I don’t touch you.”


	10. CHAPTER NINE: Auxilium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Thank you so much for all your feedback, I enjoy it a lot <3  
> As always, a little mini glossary at the beginning:  
> auxilium: Lat. help  
> dominus: Lat. master, also a title along the lines of "owner of this house"  
> Enjoy!

Dominus confuses him greatly. Fenris stares at his back when he gets up and dresses in these strange clothes he prefers to a toga. There are scars all over it down to his ass, long, white scars he notices from heavily whipped slaves. Never before had he paid so much close attention to the scars dominus bears. Never before has his gaze involuntarily dipped so low without feeling repulsed. Dominus is an attractive man, not young anymore, but certainly not as old as Danarius was. Maybe being fucked by him would not even be that bad. 

Except that dominus does not want to fuck him.

He cannot possibly think that Fenris would come to him and beg for---or is this his game? Does he want him to beg him to take him? Does he want him to want this? Danarius usually did not care much about these things, but sometimes he liked to play games. Maybe this is just a game as well. It certainly is the only fitting explanation. Hesitantly, he sits up and crawls over to dominus, who is about to get up from bed. When he touches his arm, dominus stills and looks behind his shoulder with a puzzled expression. Fenris licks his lips and hopes the demon dominus harbors will not hurt him too much as he leans forward and wraps his arms around dominus’ neck. He smells good, smells like herbs and healing magic, not like blood. It is a little comforting and quells his fear. Maybe dominus will not hurt him too much. He can be a good slave, he can, has been for a long time until it got too much with Danarius. 

Anders is a tall man, taller than most Roman humans even, and Fenris is naturally smaller as an elf, so it comes as an advantage to kneel on the bed. That way, it is no problem to kiss the scars on dominus’ shoulders. To his surprise, he can feel dominus twitch underneath his lips- then the mage turns around and gently pushes him away with a slight curse, catching his shoulders and holding his gaze.

“Fenris,” He says very calmly, “What are you doing?”

“I want this,” Fenris answers and cocks his head a little, putting his hands on dominus’ shoulders again and crawling into his lap. Dominus looks almost unsure, hands flattering along Fenris’ upper body before he tangles one of them into his hair and softly strokes him there. It feels…nice. It does not hurt, so Fenris carefully pushes his head into the touch. Dominus makes a deep, rumbling noise at that without interrupting his ministrations. Fenris slowly gets the idea that this might not be so bad and runs his hand over dominus’ chest while he presents himself as best as possible. Dominus slows down at that; Fenris swallows when he slides a hand underneath Fenris’ chin and lifts it up to look him in the eye. 

“You really want this?”

“Yes,” Fenris answers because this is what dominus wants to hear, right? He barely has time to blink before he feels dominus’ lips on his own and it feels as if a bucket of cold water was dumped over him. Slaves do not get kissed. They get fucked and that is all. Free civilians get kissed; a slave is property. A slave is not more than a dog, maybe even less, and one does not kiss their dog. Dominus is not even brutal; he presses his warm, dry lips gently against Fenris’, without much pressure or force or teeth, his beard scratching slightly, not unpleasantly, against his chin. Fenris does not move; he has no idea what to do.

With a sigh, dominus lets go of him and gently strokes his cheek with his thumb. “You don’t want this,” He says and still he sounds so very friendly that it makes Fenris’ skin crawl. He does not know what to do with this. “You are tense like a stone. You don’t kiss me back. You don’t want this, Fenris. Don’t try so hard to please me. I am not desperate enough to resolve to this and you are safe with me, okay? You are safe enough to say no when it feels like no. Do you understand?”

“I…” He does not, not really. “Yes, Anders.”

&&&&

He does not return into dominus’ bed until weeks later. It is strange, the way he has changed over time. At first, he does not notice because it is subtle, but dominus becomes a little more Anders every day and he feels---stronger, in a way, and not only because dominus still practices every day with him, making him bolder, brasher, more daring.

Until, one day, he completely defeats dominus and brings him on his knees, wooden sword against his throat. Anders swallows very, very slowly and looks up at him. Fenris stares back, chest heaving, and he feels---triumphant, in a way he would not have dared to some weeks before. There is still the knowledge in the back of his head that Anders could hurt him badly if he wanted to, could make him submit without many problems if he wanted to, but even that is a difference- that it is only in the back of his head, most of the time.

“I think it’s time for us to finish this,” Anders says with a sigh and flops down on his backside, rubbing a red spot on his arm before healing it. “You’ve become too good for me. It can only go downhill from here on.”

“What do you mean?” Fenris asks hesitantly and lets the sword sink, feeling a vague echo of his old fear again. This is something he likes. This is something he is good at. He does not want it to end, despite the selfishness. “You won’t teach me anymore?”  
“There is nothing left I can teach you,” Anders answers with a laughter and tries to tame his hair that has fallen loose somewhere during the fight. Fenris looks down at his feet and tries not to twitch irritably. “Don’t look like at me like that, Fenris, I’m not a warrior. I’m a mage, I’m used to distant battle at best.”

“I know, Anders,” Fenris says and sighs. He does not mean to sigh; it just happens. He does not mean to appear ungrateful or unhappy. 

“However,” Dominus says slowly after a moment and Fenris looks up in surprise. “I knew that this moment would happen and I thought about it. A…A good friend of mine is an amazing warrior and I am pretty sure he’d be a great teacher as well. I am going to write him tomorrow, see if he wants to come over and show you some more tricks.”

Fenris stares at him and does not know what to do with the warmth that spreads through his face, through his ears. It is a strange sensation; he does not know what to do with it. “Why would you do this?”

“I haven’t seen Hawke in a while,” Anders says easily and stands up. “And it would be a shame to let your talent go to waste. It’s gotten late. Let’s eat something before going to bed.”

“Alright, Anders,” Fenris agrees a little breathlessly and still does not know what to do, so he just stands there and looks at his feet. Dominus does not seem to mind much because he just gathers the two swords with a hum and puts them away. Fenris follows him to the table. 

Together, they eat, and it is nice, even though dominus is in a strange mood- not bitter, or angry, or anything like that, just strange, like he sometimes is, deep in thoughts and far, far away. 

Anders bids him goodnight in front of his bedroom and heads into his own. Fenris stares after him, feeling strange and tingly again. He walks into his bedroom, sits down on his bed. Looks around. Smoothes over his blanket and looks around again. Thinks of dominus and his kind, sad smile. Thinks of the way he looks when he thinks nobody watches him. 

Gets up and leaves his bedroom to slip into Anders’. He does not know why his heart is beating so fast, so he tries to ignore it. Maybe it is instinct, instinct to run away as long as he still can. Anders is still awake, even though he is already in bed, sitting up in confusion when Fenris stops still in the middle of the room, unsure what to do.

“Fenris,” He says in something like wonder and the terrible, strange expression in his eyes fades away a little. “What are you doing here?”

“I just…” What _is_ he doing here, now? “I thought…You don’t sleep well. Or much. Maybe… Maybe I can help?”

“Fenris,” Dominus says and sounds tired, exhausted when he rubs his face. “You don’t have to…pay me, or something, I thought we were over this. Just go back to sleep. Okay?”

Fenris shakes his head, then he nods, slips into Anders’ bed before he can change his decision. He rolls himself together, face towards his dominus, and looks at him, at a loss of what to say. Anders is stunned for a moment, does not move, until he slowly, carefully lies back again and turns towards him. For a moment, they watch each other. Fenris bites his lips and tries to feel nothing, no warmth, no fear, when Anders carefully, loosely wraps an arm around his waist. 

He keeps looking at him until Anders’ eyes slowly fall shut. For some reason, everything is completely fine.


	11. CHAPTER TEN: Milvus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it's been quite a while since I updated here, I am SO sorry. ;_; I hope this chapter makes up a little for the long time of waiting...We finally get to meet Hawke, yay!  
> As always, a mini glossary beforehand:  
> Milvus= lat. hawke. I am creative, I know.  
> domine= comes from "dominus", is the fifth casus that is used for adressing a person directly  
> Wodan=Germanic god. Yes, Hawke is a Germanic warrior, whereas Anders is Gothic, which is not the same, but very closely related.  
> togae= plural from the Latin toga  
> Frîjô= Gothic equivalent for Freya  
> Wôdanaz=Gothic equivalent for Wotan/Odin  
> Enjoy! \o/

Anders wonders how it could come to this certainly strange sleeping habit he and Fenris developed in the two weeks that passed since the day he decided to write Hawke to ask for lessons. Then again, maybe he deserves just accepting things for once instead of trying to pick them into pieces until they fall apart underneath his fingertips. 

He certainly does not complain. So does Justice.

With a hum, he finishes rolling up and sorting the freshly washed bandages and stretches with a groan. He does not get any younger; sometimes, he can feel it. 

"Domine-"

He is in the midst of turning around when a gruff, all too familiar voice says with an audible grin, "Why don't you just stretch a little more, I am quite enjoying the view. Wodan be blessed that you still restrain from wearing those damned togae."

“Hawke,” Anders yells with utter glee and fully turns to find himself pressed against a very warm, ridiculously muscled chest. There are not many men who are taller than him, but Hawke bests him with a few inches. He does not wear armor today, just pants and a shirt made from the rough fabric his village uses all the time, but he still smells the same, like fire and warmth and roughness.

**Home for you.**

_In a way, yes._

“You’ve been fast, travelling here,” He mumbles into Hawke’s shirt and maybe he clenches his fingers a little around it, but maybe he does not really care. It has been too long- too much time of trying to forget, trying to leave behind, trying to come to terms with what happened and what he did. He will never come to terms with it. He will never forget, or leave behind.

“I have a horse,” Hawke answers cheerfully and lifts a big, calloused hand to softly stroke his hair. “Your hair’s longer. Since when do you have a slave, by the way?”

_Shit._

**You forgot about the elf? He smells like home. You cannot forget home.**

Anders wants to laugh and cry at the same time. Instead, he lets go of the warrior in front of him and looks at Fenris, who meets his gaze with a puzzled expression before he carefully schools it into something more neutral. Anders hates it when he does that. “He’s not my slave. He’s my assistant.”

“Oh, alright,” Hawke answers with a slight blink and it is that moment where Anders notices that they talked in their native languages to each other. Hawke’s and his languages are basically the same; they always did it like that. How strange it seems now. How strange that it seems strange.

**What is wrong, Anders? I do not understand.**

_It’s nothing._

**You are lying to me. Why are you lying to me? We are one.**

Anders tries to ignore Justice’s pressing because he cannot deal with this right now and focuses on Fenris instead, slipping back into Latin. “Fenris? Come here, please. Have you two already greeted each other?”

“Well he damn well literally sprung at me, that little demon,” Hawke laughs with his rich, roaring voice, using Latin again as well, and claps Fenris’ shoulder, ignoring the elf’s visible flinch, but grinning at the rapidly reddening tips of his ears. “I know what you meant now, though. He certainly is not like you, hiding behind stones and yelling insults at me from a safe distance.”

“That was one time and I was awfully young, had a concussion and was chased by a hoard of wild goats,” Anders scowled. To be perfectly honest, and he is not sure if he wants to be perfectly honest with himself, he is rather touched by Fenris’ obvious readiness to defend him.

It is quite quickly decided that Fenris’ training is not going to start until the next day. What is not so quickly decided are the sleeping matters.

“I have a guest room you can take,” Anders offers and believes that this will be the end of it, but then Hawke just looks at him, in that way Anders knows so well, has seen directed at him for a long while, and that look still makes warmth, low and fierce, unfurl in his stomach. 

“I was hoping we could settle for another--- arrangement,” He says lightly in his native language, brown eyes still locked with Anders’ and lips quirked into that cocky half-smile he always wears when he is ready to attack. “It has been a while and I would certainly love to--- catch up with you until the morning, if you want to as well.”

Beside them, Fenris frowns, probably both because he cannot understand anything and the look he must see on Anders’ face. He is twitchy, irritably shifting his weight from one foot onto the other as if being ready to attack, like a caged animal, and Anders bites his lips. 

Damn it, he is just a man and it has been so long until he felt another body like that against his own; there was a time where he could not go without that physical intimacy for longer than a day, always wanting, searching, longing—and he remembers, oh, he remembers Hawke, remembers him with every fiber of his body.

“Of course I want it,” He murmurs softly and returns Hawke’s broadening smile with an, as he hopes, equally feral one, before he changes back into Latin and takes Fenris a little aside. “Fenris, I would like you to sleep in your room tonight again, alright? Hawke and I haven’t seen each other for a long, long while and we want to catch up a little.”  
There is something passing over Fenris’ face so briefly that Anders is not even sure he has really seen it, but then the elf just lightly bows his head and says, “Of course, Anders.”

And of course this is the answer, why was he even afraid- hoping for- of another?

Anders looks at the low stand of the sun and decides to prepare dinner. If Hawke is surprised to watch him do it instead of Fenris, he does not say anything. Justice is strangely restless, making him restless as well while simultaneously retreating far enough that he does not have to answer Anders’ questions. 

He can only hope that Justice will leave him alone tonight. Justice does not answer his silent inquiry; it should not make him worry, but somehow it does.

After dinner, Fenris bids them good night and exits quietly to slip into his room. Anders watches him go for a moment while he busies himself with putting the leftover food back onto its place. He is surprised to find that he is strangely unsure how to proceed; they are not the same people they have been once, after all, and he just does not know-

“Anders,” Hawke says softly and solves it for him- like he always did when he realized Anders could not, would not, like he always will, perhaps- by gently taking his hand and leading him outside. “Show me your room.”

Anders does, a little dazed and a lot excited, enjoying the unfurl of lust he is entirely permitted to feel in his bones. “I missed you,” He breathes and wraps his arms around Hawke’s neck and draws him close in the middle of his bedroom and does not know how true it is until he has spoken the words and then it is a force of truth that almost makes him choke. “Gods, I missed you so fucking much-“

“I missed you too,” Hawke answers almost breathlessly and already tugs on Anders’ shirt, yanks it over his head and tosses it away to breathe his next words between feverish little kisses against Anders’ shoulders, “I thanked Frîjô and Wôdanaz and whoever listened when I got your letter, I missed you---I missed you so much, let me show you how much I missed you fucking stupid son of a-“

“Yes,” Anders groans, yes, and for the first time in a long while, he just---lets go.


	12. CHAPTER ELEVEN: Pudor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your continued and new support of this story, all that feedback makes me very happy!! I know it's been a while since I updated here, but I did not abandon this story, I promise.
> 
> As always, a mini glossary before the beginning.  
> Pudor: Lat. shame

It is the scream that wakes him.

For a moment Fenris thinks it is just his imagination, something he took with him from his dreams, then he hears it again and it makes him jolt upright in a second. The blood rushes in his ears when he listens again, wide awake, into the shadows of his bedroom. Strange that it is this moment where he remembers that Anders’ bedroom is never fully dark; there is always a candle lit in the night and during daytime bright sunlight filters through the windows. 

Another scream and this time Fenris recognizes Anders’ voice. He is out of the bed and in his clothes before he can even realize it, just like he does not realize he is growling until he is already out the door. It does not matter whether dominus knew that man he calls Hawke in previous years, it does not even matter if he missed him or not. Obviously the warrior is hurting him and Fenris- well, it is his duty to protect his dominus and the thought of Anders getting hurt makes something worryingly hot and furious unfurl in his stomach. 

It just takes a few steps until he is at Anders’ bedroom door and rips it open.

The first thing he sees is Hawke’s broad back whose muscles are flexing and throwing shadows in the light of the lit flames. He is naked as the sin- and so is Anders, legs fallen wide open, and he claws at Hawke’s back hard enough to draw blood, but it does not stop the other man from thrusting into him with enough force that the bed trembles like a shaken tree. When a stream of foreign, but obviously pleading, almost whimpering words escape Anders’ mouth, he just answers with grunts and growls, biting down into the curve of Anders’ neck before he notices Fenris at the door and all but smirks like a cat that got a particularly delicious fish.

Fenris does not even think before he lunges himself against him. 

Of course, he just has to light his brands to tear his heart out and smash it to the ground, but that would be too easy. He wants it to hurt, to inflict insufferable pain on the man who dared hurting Anders, who had been better to Fenris than he needed to without ever wanting something back. Maybe Hawke was bigger and broader than him, but Fenris was quick and filled with blazing anger, all but shoving Hawke off Anders before he swung his fist into his head, ignoring Anders’ outcry. The feeling of flesh underneath his fingers he can tear into, can take apart is better than everything else in the world. 

He only comes back to his senses when Hawke finally overcomes his surprise and starts to fight back in earnest, still not really winning until Anders suddenly grabs Fenris from behind and tries to forcibly pull him away. 

“Fenris, what the _fuck_ are you doing?” He yells and that---makes Fenris still and turn around towards him with heavy breath, a broken nose and blood splattered across his hands. To be fair, Hawke does not look any better; it fills him with grim satisfaction. Anders does not look like he would expect a free man to look after a horrible, painful assault like that. Instead, he looks almost- angry, even though he lifts a hand and gently touches Fenris’ nose to straighten the bone with a horrible crackling sound before he heals it up quickly and nicely.

“I tried to save you,” Fenris says and tries to hide the waver in his voice by wiping away the blood from his nose. “I’m sorry I…I’m sorry I came too late. I’m sorry.”

Anders’ angry gaze softens immediately into something Fenris cannot really understand and he moves his hand from Fenris’ nose to his head to slowly stroke his hair. At first, Fenris is too distracted by this unexpected motion that he does not notice right away when Hawke starts to laugh. He almost shakes with laughter, falling back onto his back and leaving drops of blood all over the sheets.

“This is great,” He says between fits of laughter, gulping for air, “Damn, Anders, I always told you you’re too fucking loud and whiny.”

“Shut up, Hawke,” Anders snaps and does not even look embarrassed. “Get out.”

“What?” Hawke asks and stops laughing in an instant, bringing himself into a sitting position again. “I haven’t done anything wrong! _He_ assaulted _me_ while I was root-deep in your-“

“I have to talk with Fenris for a second,” Anders interrupts him and his voice becomes soft and quiet when he gazes at Hawke and adds something in his native language. Hawke stares at him for a second before sighing heavily, grabbing the sheet and wrapping it around his mid before leaving the room. 

Anders watches him leave, takes a deep breath and focuses his gaze on Fenris. “Fenris,” He says very calmly, “Hawke did not hurt me. What we did was with my complete, utter consent and I enjoyed it perhaps a little too greatly until you interrupted us.”

Fenris shakes his head. He knows this. There is nothing, nothing to enjoy about this act and he knows all too well. Perhaps pleasing Danarius has been satisfying on some level, but only because he knew that it was his duty to please his dominus and it meant that he was a good slave. The act itself was—he swallows and tries to focus on Anders’ hand in his hair, not understanding at all how Anders can still want to touch others after what has been done to him. “I do not understand, domine. He attacked you. He hurt you.”

“He did not hurt me, he was very considerate,” Anders says patiently, still stroking his hair. “What happened to you was not how it is usually done, you know. Carnal acts are usually very, very enjoyable.”

Something in the way dominus looks at him and speaks to him makes him look down on his hands while he can feel the familiar blush creeping into his ears. He cannot look Anders in the eyes when he answers, “I thought you were hurt. I did not---I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Anders says and it is that moment that Fenris notices how gloriously naked his dominus still his, the sweat shining on his skin, his shoulder-long hair loose instead of being tied back as usual and partially plastered against his face. “You meant well. I am not angry.”

“You are not…Why are you never angry at me?” Fenris asks before he can stop himself and cringes a little because it sounds almost accusing. “You never… I always do things wrong and you never… I don’t understand you. I don’t understand this. I wanted to protect you.”

“I know,” Anders says still in that soft, calm voice of his even though there is a flash of blue in his eyes- and of course, of course that demon of him is present all the time, he should have known that dominus could defeat himself if he truly wanted to, he should have known what Hawke was no threat by the absence of blue cracks in the skin of his dominus. He feels foolish and feverish and on top of that, he feels raw, almost wounded whenever his gaze wanders over all the naked skin of his dominus and it’s that what makes him get up and flee out of the room without another word.

He is scared and he does not know why, but he understands the shame.


	13. CHAPTER TWELVE: Amici

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally an update, sorry for being so lame ;_; But it's Fenders Friday and I probably won't be able to write much today, so here we are!  
> As always, a little mini glossary beforehand:  
> Amici: comes from Lat. "amicus", friend; "amici" is, in this case, first case plural and means "friends" (male friends, to be VERY precise)  
> Ascanen Wahtâri: Old High German for Grey Wardens; mind you, this translation is very free, so it might not be quite correct and it is not the Gothic I aimed for, mostly because even though I study German Philology, I wasn't able to find many Gothic sources concerning their language, which is quite a shame.
> 
> And now, please enjoy!

Hawke, that bastard, is still grinning when he enters the bedroom a few minutes after Fenris left the room in a hurry again. He seems to be completely unaware of the devastation Anders feels and claps his shoulder.

“Well, that was awkward,” He announces heartily and sits down beside Anders. Anders just grunts and decides not to move; maybe this entire disaster will go away on its own then. His backside aches from the sudden retreat Hawke was forced to make not so long ago and he heals himself with a quick, murmured cast, easing the pain. Still, something hurts, tingles in his chest; maybe it is the humiliation. Maybe it was that look in Fenris’ eyes when he told him-

“I’m sorry,” He mutters and does not even know what exactly he feels sorry for, only knows that he is cold and tired, no longer filled by that horribly enticing heat. With a sigh, he rubs his face and sucks in a surprised breath when Hawke wraps his arms around him from behind and nuzzles his neck. He has forgotten how affectionate in general Hawke can be. 

He has forgotten many things. 

**Maybe because they were not relevant, not really**. Anders sighs and closes his eyes when Justice starts to shift and awake from his sleep. **What do you want, Anders?**

_You’ve never asked me that before._

**I did not because it was not relevant. We had a plan. We had a goal. Now we are just waiting for death so I can go home and you can finally cease to be. Is this what you want?**

_…No. I want… I just want to live, nothing else._

_You are lying to me. DO NOT LIE TO ME. YOU CANNOT ESCAPE FROM JUSTICE. WHAT DO YOU WANT?_

What he wants? Anders has long since stopped wanting things besides simple, ordinary fulfillments. “Hawke,” He murmurs, “Do you remember when we first met?”

“Of course I do,” Hawke says with a silent laugh and starts stroking his hair. “I will never forget the appareance of the Ascanen Wahtâri, the soldiers out of legends, the ones who sacrifice their name and their lives to protect the land from darkness, and their little mage with glowing blue eyes, barely a man and yet so fierce.”

“I never was fierce,” Anders responds with a sigh. “I never was particularly brave. I just… I wanted to live. Sometimes I look around and I don’t know why I wanted to… The world was once so beautiful, you know? So- beautiful. And then I went and destroyed a part of it. It is only a proper punishment that I cannot enjoy it to the fullest anymore.”

“What you did can never be atoned,” Hawke says oh so very gently, but with the same piercing, soothing honesty he has always shown Anders. “But you should not stop living for something or someone because of it. You have suffered enough, Anders. It is alright to want things.”

“Not always.” The words are out before he can reconsider them and he cringes a little because his thoughts immediately fly to Fenris, whom he has probably scarred for life. And is it not so much like him, to take away the feeling of safety he has tried to give to Fenris in a mere whim by a selfish act? Fenris has seen him naked, moaning so much like a whore that the elf thought he needed to be saved. The thought makes him flush with heat and humiliation and he does not realizes how deep he is digging his fingernails into Hawke’s upper arms until the warrior growls a little. 

“Talk to me,” Hawke finally says and it is almost soft, almost a plea. The thing is, no matter how many people Anders slept with when he was young and looking for something he could not quite put his finger on, the few people he has actually been in a relationship with he always truly loved, fiercely and with a dedication that bordered on obsession. What he had with Hawke was short, but intense; they had only months of happiness until what by that point had become Anders and Justice and yet was something entirely else ripped them apart by a foolish, sinful act. He loved him, still does, and a part of him will probably always love him. That is just how things are and that is why he is probably so god damn afraid. 

“I cannot do this again,” He says, barely hearing his own words but knowing that Hawke will understand. Hawke does not always understand, but the most important parts are what he always catches effortlessly. “I’m sorry, this was…foolish. I still—but not like that anymore. I don’t know what to do anymore. It feels like betrayal now and I don’t—“ He laughs hysterically, ignores Justice’s disapproving growl. “I didn’t even realize it felt like betrayal until I said it. Frauja’s neck, I don’t even…”

 **Be calm.** But Justice experiences what he experiences, the fear, the anger, the confusion, and even though he does not understand human emotions, will probably never do, he cannot help but react on it. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Hawke says more patiently than he has ever heard him. “Anders, it’s fine, I didn’t expect to relight our romance, damn, I was just hoping for a nice shag for old time’s sake, I gotta admit it. If you changed your mind after Fenris’ interruption and don’t want that as well anymore, it’s fine. I am very disappointed, but it’s fine. We’re fine, alright? I just…Actually I may have also come to tell you that we’re fine. We never… Had time to talk about—well. I was so surprised and overjoyed when I got your letter. I thought I would never hear from you again, that you died somewhere out there-“ His voice audibly cracks and Anders hates it, hates the knowledge that this is just another injury he has caused. 

“I’m sorry too,” He mutters and reaches up to gently scratch Hawke’s dark, silver-streaked beard just how he knows Hawkes likes it. Men like them age early; at least, Hawke ages in grace and probably only in the color of his hair for now. “I’m sorry for running away once more. I’m sorry for…This.”

“Don’t be,” Hawke says and there it is, that tone of voice only a leader of several troops can have, that earnest, convincing, booming voice. “And don’t be sorry for wanting other things either. I have seen the way you looked at him when he shielded you with his body from me.”

“He…Shielded me?”

“Maybe your eyes didn’t notice,” Hawke says with a smile, “But something in you noticed. I know the look I saw from you, know it very well. He is strong, that one, even though he might have some deep scars. I have the feeling that it will be quite the experience to teach him how to fight. Please don’t tell me now that he is a slave and that it would be wrong. He is not only a slave, Anders, he is a person as well, and it takes some great dedication to, well, protect someone from someone who is significantly bigger and more muscular than oneself. Also, I have a beard and my performance in bed is scarily fantastic, as we all have heard and seen.” Hawke grins briefly down at him and ignores his protesting squawking before he continues in all seriousness, “You can be a little deaf, dense and blind when it comes to things like that, which is okay when it comes to me because often I don’t see things like that as well, but it’s probably unwise with the elf. He clearly adores you.”

“He has no idea what adoration even is.”

“So show him.”

“I don’t even know if I want to show him!”

“So find out. Honestly, Anders, everything is better than the state you’re in right now. Get yourself together.” Anders closes his eyes when Hawke gently cradles his face and presses a light, sweet kiss on his lips. It feels like goodbye, in a way, goodbye to something they once were and very likely will never be again, and Anders finds that he is fine with that. Life finds its way and so do bondings. “I promise, everything will be fine.”


	14. CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Colloquium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, it has definitely been a while since I updated this one, hasn't it ;_; I'm so sorry!! To make up for it, I'll post the next chapter before new New Year, promise!! Thank you all for your continued support, I am so happy <3  
> As always, a mini glossary:  
> Colloquium: Lat. discussion  
> Atrium: inner courtyard most Roman houses had.
> 
> Have fun! :D

Sitting at the same table with dominus and magister Hawke after what happened last night is certainly strange, but dominus requested his presence with kind words and he cannot refuse his dominus, even though the shame still burns in him and makes him even more silent than usual. Hawke makes idle conversation, but Anders is quieter than usual as well, only smiling and not laughing, staring thoughtfully at his plate when Hawke is busy eating.

“Fenris,” He finally says and looks at Fenris, who has no choice but to meet his gaze because he knows dominus likes it when he looks him in the eyes while talking. “Today will be your first lesson. You and Hawke can use the atrium. If it is alright with you, I think Hawke has developed a training plan that starts right after breakfast.”

“Indeed,” Hawke nods and Fenris—cannot bring himself to look at his magister. The images from last night, Hawke buried deeply in his dominus, are still too vivid and make something hot and fierce he does not understand burn through his veins. “Anders told me of the training he did with you. Have you ever trained with real swords?”

“No, magister,” Fenris answers truthfully with bowed head. 

“Well, good,” Hawke says and laughs his booming laughter. “I don’t want to imagine all the chaos Anders with a real sword would be.”

“Shut up, I’m a mage,” Anders mutters, but a smile tugs at the corners of his lips that is a little lighter than the previous ones. “Besides, I think that you will find that Fenris is extraordinarily talented as a warrior. I have never seen someone learn how to wield a sword so fast without previous experience.”

“Thank you, domine,” Fenris says a little surprised and cannot help but feel the tips of his ears blush when Anders shows him an expression that is confusingly hesitant and…soft. It makes him look a little younger, more vulnerable than usual.

“It is nothing but the truth, so you don’t have to thank me,” Anders replies and turns his attention towards Hawke again. “Please try not to shed any blood and don’t damage the statues. Even though I might not care about them, this is still a clinic and I at least try to make it a little presentable.”

“The people you treat care as much about the appearance of your clinic as they care about horse shit on the street, as long as they get treated well,” Hawke snorts and gets up from the table. Fenris notices that he does not wear armor; either he does not expect Fenris to be a real threat or he does not intend to start with real swords this day. Maybe it is both. He adds something in the gibberish he and Anders share as a language, grins at the mage and pulls Fenris outside with surprising strength.

“You’re a pretty little elf, I have to give you that,” he says without preamble when they are finally alone, confirming Fenris’ beliefs at least partially when he moves over to the trunk with the wooden swords and gets them out. “I bet Danarius made you dance for him a lot. You’ve got all these precious lithe limbs.”

“He did, magister,” Fenris replies tensely and does not know what Hawke wants from him. Danarius is not his dominus anymore. He does not matter anymore- except that maybe, just maybe, that is not entirely true. 

“Did you like it?”

Fenris blinks and catches the sword that is flung at him by pure reflex. “Excuse me, magister?”

Hawke’s eyes are cold like steel when he looks at Fenris. “Did you like dancing for him like a cheap whore, Fenris?”

The insult goes deeper than it probably should. “I…Liked pleasing him. I was a good slave. Most of the time.”

Hawke’s grin is feral. “But you didn’t like the dancing. And yet, he made you. I will teach you so well that nobody will ever be able to make you dance against your wish without dying a bloody and gruesome death. You’re going to be a killer. I know Anders doesn’t particularly like it, but I also know that he will be ultimately relieved when you can defend yourself-and Anders, probably, as well. That man is an idiot.”

“He is,” Fenris confirms without a second thought, then looks at his feet in embarrassment. “But he is a good man as well.”

“Indeed,” Hawke says softly, “And he cares a lot about you.”

He strikes so fast that Fenris has barely time to react and he hits him with a force that makes him stumble back and crash into a wall. Hawke is at his throat in mere seconds; he moves fast, faster than one would expect for a man his size, and it takes Fenris by complete surprise. For a moment, he cannot breathe, even though he struggles against Hawke’s grip before he decides that his best chance is to go lax in his grip and hope that Hawke will not punish him too hard. For a moment, there is complete silence; both of them do not even breathe louder than absolutely necessary. 

“Rule number one, little elf,” Hawke finally says and his voice is barely louder than usual, but so clear and alive that it almost stings. “Never expect your enemy to play fair. Death ain’t waiting for you to make the first move. Always be prepared to die.”

“I am.”

Hawke laughs. It sounds a little mad, but Fenris suddenly realizes why dominus may be so drawn towards him. “Do you even know about the Fenrir wolf, little elf, the wolf you’ve been named after?”

“I am not little,” Fenris snaps back before he can hold himself back and he looks at his feet in embarrassment. Only a little too late he realizes that he should probably apologize. “I….I would like to hear the story, however. Please.”

“I don’t tell the story as nicely as Anders does,” Hawke says with a big grin, “Especially not in Latin. I’m not much of a story talker. You should ask him to tell you some time, I am sure he would be overjoyed.” His face is almost tender for a moment. “I have a friend that tells the most amazing stories in the entire world. Maybe one day I can convince Anders and you to come back with me and you can listen to him.”

“I’d rather hear it by dominus.” The words slip out before he can think about it and he unwillingly grits his teeth at the humiliation. He sounds like the dog Danarius wanted to beat into him; it is disgusting. He should feel disgusted. In a way, he does, in another, it is just the truth. He wants dominus to explain the roots of his name in his soft voice in the evening, laying close on his bed like they used to before Hawke showed up and ruined everything.

“You do, huh,” Hawke says slowly and nods, slowly fingering the wooden sword in his hands. “Do you like him?”

“He is very kind to me,” Fenris replies slowly and hesitantly because it is the truth, is it not? Dominus has been nothing but kind to him, despite his angry fits complete with loud rants in his native language every now and then when he thinks he is alone. Despite what happened the other night, even. The thought makes him flush with humiliation again and he shuffles his feet. “I apologize, magister. For…for last night. I am sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Hawke says and roars with laughter before he slaps Fenris’ shoulder. “Never apologize for something you didn’t mean. You’re not a slave anymore anywhere else but in name and maybe one day, you will be truly free. So don’t.“

“I…” Something in the way Hawke looks at him makes Fenris reconsider what he was about to say. Maybe—if he continues being a good slave, maybe Anders will free him? Maybe one day he could be a libertus, leave this city and start a new life? He has not allowed himself to think of freedom for a long, long while. Perhaps it is not too late for a little hope.


	15. CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Ira

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnnnd the last update for this year!  
> As always, a little mini glossary at the beginning.  
> ira= lat. anger  
> domine=calling form of dominus, meaning "master"
> 
> Enjoy n_n

Anders knows something is up as soon as the elfish slave enters his court, bowing in front of him like a trained animal with that wounded expression in his eyes Fenris still sometimes shows.

**This is how they treat them all. Treats them like a ball he can kick around whenever he wants to. Just like every other blood mage.**

_I know. Fuck._ Anders breathes in deeply to stop Justice from showing his anger, but apparently at least his eyes must have given him away for a second because the slave flinches as if having been hit and takes a step back before bowing as deeply as possible again.

“Domine,” the slave says with a voice that is barely a murmur, “My dominus, Danarius, requests your visit at his villa as soon as your duties allow you to.”

Anders frowns and puts the mortar he busied himself with for the last hours away. “Whatever for? Our business is settled. There was an agreement.”

“Forgive me, domine,” the slave stammers and wrings his hands. “I am merely a slave, I don’t—he did not---“

**You scared him, Anders.**

_You scared him, Justice, damn it, not me. I told you not to pull that off anymore!_ “It’s fine, it’s fine, I’ll just… I’ll go right away. Might as well get it over with.”

“Thank you, domine.” The way the slave bows again before shuffling back even further makes Anders so sick that he can barely look at him. With a sigh, he leaves the clinic to pass Hawke and Fenris wrestling in the atrium. 

“I’m going out for a while, I, uh, I have something to do. Have fun!” he calls. There is a grunt from Hawke and even though Fenris shoots a gaze at him and tries to untangle himself for a moment, the breath is knocked out of him in the next second when Hawke tackles him into the ground. The slave trails after him like a lost appendage when Anders sighs and unwillingly leaves his house, marching into the district where Danarius’ villa is in full gear. He does not look like a free, civilized, Roman citizen at all; he looks like the barbarian these people call him behind his back when they think he is not listening. **Good. We are not in the mood to please someone like Danarius.** _Indeed._

Danarius already waits for him in his finest toga, standing in his atrium with one hand behind his back and the other holding the end of his toga with trained elegance. “Anders,” he says, not even batting an eyelash at the clothes he is wearing. “I am glad you came by so soon. I wanted to talk to you.”

“We had an agreement,” Anders snaps, trying not to sound too furious. “You promised we won’t have anything to do with each other ever again. Payment for my services and that’s it. What is this about? You’re about to die again?”

Danarius smiles briefly and slowly shakes his head. “I wanted to talk about my little wolf,” he says without preamble, “I want him back.”

**NEVER!**

Justice’s anger flares up so suddenly and intensely that Anders has to breathe in deeply and take a few steps around the atrium before they can come together and rip out that man’s black, broken heart and devour it. 

**You did not complain the last time this happened WE NEED TO SEE HIM DEAD ANDERS JUSTICE HAS TO BE BROUGHT UPON HIM. DO IT.**

_Not like this._

**DO IT.**

_I AM NOT A MONSTER AND SO AREN’T YOU!_

“No,” He breathes, struggling with himself, with what he wants to do but should not, should never again. He is not a killer. He is a healer. **SOME LIFE IS NOT JUST. YOU HAVE TO HEAL THIS WORLD. SOMETIMES HEALING MEANS DESTROYING FIRST.** “You can’t. He’s mine now.”

“Ah, I understand that you’ve taken a liking towards him,” Danarius says with a sickening smile and Anders knows that the man is trying to taunt him before he continues surprisingly obscenely and still with that too-sweet smile, “He is quite talented, isn’t he? After he got the brandings, he was like an unwritten wax plate, you know, and he loved me. After forgetting his mother and sister, I was all he had! I guess it’s not that different with you, is it? Tell me, do you enjoy it as much as I do when he sucks you off with his pretty mouth, doing that thing with his tongue, making all these noises when you start to face-fuck him until he chokes? He’s always so grateful when you come on his face, at least he was with me.”

Anders stares at him for exactly the bat of an eyelash before he punches him. Danarius goes down with a surprised cry, not suspecting raw violence just like every other blood mage never imagines raw violence from everyone. He waits until Danarius has sat up, gingerly touching his nose that sprays blood everywhere, before he lunges in for another. This time, he does not stop Justice from spreading through his veins, coloring his vision blue until he sees nothing more.

&&&

When he comes to himself again, it is evening, he stands in front of his home again and has no idea what happened. Justice has withdrawn so deep into his mind that he does not even give a response when Anders forcibly reaches for him through the fog of headache he feels. He tries to breathe when he checks himself for blood, intestines, flesh, anything-  
Breathing gets a little easier when he finds nothing but a torn fingernail. With a deep sigh, he walks back into the house, trying to overcome the worry and the fear. It has been ages since his last gap in memory, since Justice’s last complete take-over, and he---

He probably messed up.

“Oh please,” He mutters when he finds the lights already off, stumbling towards Fenris’ room, “Please, don’t let him—please don’t---“

He blinks and stills when Hawke sits up and blinks up at him blearily. “What the---Hawke? Why are you here?”

“Changed beds again, me and the little guy. We both thought it was better that way,” Hawke grumbles and grins, running a hand through his already messy hair before he takes a closer look at Anders and frowns. “You okay?”

“I…Is Fenris?”

“Sure, just a little beaten up, I threw him around a lot today. He’s though, that one.”

Anders tries to hide a smile and sighs instead, not having the energy to argue about the sleeping arrangements of all things. As always, the biggest problem he has right now is himself. Figures. After a mumbled good night he finds his way into his own bedroom, pausing a little when he sees Fenris sitting on the bed, trying to fix a bandage around his wrist. The elf looks up when he hears him entering the room and smiles hesitantly.

“Hello, Anders,” he says and casts his gaze downward in that sheepish manner he sometimes shows. “I apologize, but magister Hawke told me to-“

“It’s fine, Fenris,” Anders interrupts him as gently as possible. When his gaze lands on the trunk with the griffin once more, he does not look away. Instead, he hesitantly steps towards it before kneeling down in front of it and unlatching the magical chains around it. It does not make him exactly happy, but whatever happened with Danarius means that he has to take care of Fenris, be extra careful, which means that he has to use everything he can to protect him- and so he will. 

He is a healer, after all. It is what he does.

Still, it feels strange to push aside the carefully stored uniform and pull out the long staff with the blade and the dragon head on one end. He holds it for a second until he has to swallow thickly and lean it against the wall beside his bed. Fenris looks at him with a confused expression, but says nothing when Anders climbs into bed to him, tensing only for a moment when he gets pulled backwards against Anders’ chest. “Let me heal you and soothe your muscle cramps, alright? You must be sore all over from Hawke’s training. I’m very proud of you.”

He concentrates on making Fenris feel better and after a while, it even eases the tight knot of fear and worry and tension in his stomach, enough to fall asleep with his arms wrapped tightly around Fenris’ wiry frame, his nose buried in his neck.


	16. CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Osculum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd here we are with another chapter!  
> The mini glossary:  
> osculum: Lat. "kiss" (ya'll know what's coming now)  
> ...and that's it! Enjoy n_n

Waking up beside Anders feels better than expected and yet it is unpleasant. For one, his dominus is big and warm, like an additional blanket, which makes the hardness of the bed much more bearable. What makes it unpleasant, however, is the way Anders twitches and murmurs in his sleep, his lax fingers against Fenris’ naked stomach flexing and relaxing every few minutes. It is utterly distracting and it makes Fenris think of the one day where dominus kissed him. Anders was right back then- he did not want it. Now, however, he is not so sure; when Anders was kissed by Hawke, he was… furious. Anders’ mouth should not be claimed by anyone else. He does not know if he wants anything else than being able to kiss his dominus, but right now, like this, he is willing to try. 

First, however, he has to wake up Anders. He has experienced this before, the twitching turning into outright shaking and soft murmurs becoming pleas in that foreign language Fenris does not understand, and he is determined not to let it result in dominus bolting out of the bed again, so he carefully turns around in Anders’ arms and pinches his cheek. Naturally, Anders’ eyes fly open, but the monster within him only shows itself for a bright moment before Anders’ gaze turns honey-brown again and he blinks groggily.

“Fenris,” he says and yawns, unconsciously pulling Fenris closer against his chest so that Fenris’ nose is buried in fine, golden hair. After fighting down the first instincts of panic and revulsion, he finds that he does not mind too badly. “Did you wake me?”

“You were having nightmares,” Fenris explains and thinks that it would be so easy to push dominus over and kill him. He is unguarded, trusting, and Fenris knows exactly how strong he physically is; dominus would be no match for him. Somehow, knowing that he holds Anders’ life in his hands makes it easier and he looks up at him. Anders meets his gaze with his own that is weirdly soft and hesitant.

“Well then, thank you,” he says and, after a while, adds, “Why did you and Hawke change the sleeping arrangements?”

Fenris feels the tips of his ears redden in an instant because there are several answers he could give now. He settles for one that is very much true and yet does not explain enough. “I wanted to protect you.”

“Oh, Fenris,” Anders says with a sigh and nothing else, closing his eyes for a moment. He looks tired and worn-out and Fenris wonders what he did yesterday when he left the house, but it is not his place to ask… Except maybe he should. Maybe he should try. Maybe he _can_ try. This is the man he wants to kiss; maybe it is alright if he lets him earn it.

“Anders,” he begins very carefully, ignoring the chilly ghost of fear in his bones, “May I ask where you have been yesterday?”

Dominus is so silent that Fenris wonders for a moment whether he has stopped breathing or not, then he opens his eyes and looks at him. “Well, I promised I would never lie to you and always answer your questions, didn’t I? Danarius sent a request that I come see him, so I did.”

And just like this, the chilly ghost of fear becomes so much more than a ghost, but he clenches his teeth and fights it. “Why?”

“Why did he want to see me or why did I go?” There is a small smile on dominus’ lips, but it does not comfort Fenris very much. 

“Both, domine.”

“He wanted to see me because he wants you back. I went to see him because I wanted to tell him that he can’t have you back.” Anders breathes in deeply and massages the root of his nose. “I wanted to free you, but now I think it would be better if we wait with that. I know it’s not….optimal, but as long as I am your dominus, we have certain rights even Danarius cannot change.”

Fenris stares at him with utter disbelief, feels almost startled and raw. “You wanted to free me?”

“Yes,” Anders says with a sigh as if this was nothing, as if this was something he could say in passing, as if it was an idea implanted in his head for so long that it did not seem extraordinary anymore and Fenris just looks at him, looks and looks and hears his blood rush in his ears. “But now I can’t and I’m sorry for that. It’s just too dangerous for you. If you were free, he could find a way to claim that it was all just a fiend to overthrow him and he might get you back- he is part of the senate, after all, so it would not be very difficult for him.- Are you alright?”

Fenris nods, shakes his head, nods again and does not really know if he is alright because he seems to shake and does not know how to stop it, so he just does the next best thing and asks, “May I kiss you?”

Something in Anders’ face becomes soft, almost desperate, and he shakes his head. “You don’t have to do this, Fenris. You don’t need to…reward me.”

“It’s not that,” Fenris says because it really is not, he just cannot seem to make dominus see. “I just…I never was…” He makes a frustrated noise in his throat because it is so difficult to explain, so humiliating and he does not want to be humiliated anymore, not now, not ever. “I think you can be gentle, so you would probably be gentle with me as well,” he says at least and does not meet Anders’ eyes, staring at the fascinating patch of hair on his chest instead. “And I…” The truth is that he still thinks of that one evening where he saw Anders and Hawke and it makes him flush with heat. “You told me such acts could be enjoyable. I just want to try.”

There is a long silence, but then Fenris feels one of Anders’ warm hands softly card through his hair, gently massaging his scalp, and involuntarily he leans closer.

“Fenris,” he says softly, “You are a slave only in name. If you really want to kiss me, just do it, but only if you really feel comfortable with it. I can’t say I haven’t thought about it, you know, you are very beautiful.”

Fenris swallows because this is the invitation he needed and craved for, so he gathers up courage and lifts his head. Anders meets his gaze with a small, anticipating smile and closes his eyes when Fenris leans up to just- do it. The way he just presses his lips against Anders’ cannot be very elegant, but the mage does not seem to mind much because he just makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat and wraps his arms around Fenris’ leaner frame. Fenris feels awkward and unsure, at a loss in a situation he has never been taught of, but Anders seems to notice his helplessness and pecks soft, small kisses on his mouth, nipping on his lower lip before sweeping the tip of his tongue across it. Startled and out of pure instinct Fenris opens his lips and jumps back a little when Anders slides his tongue between them. Dominus patiently waits until he has recovered from his surprise enough to come back for another peck, because that was nice and sweet and he is a little unsure about the whole tongue thing, before he asks, “You want me to teach you how to kiss?”

“No,” Fenris says after a moment, “I just want you to kiss me until I know how to do it.”

Anders smiles and dives in for another one. It takes Fenris a long, long while to realize what it is that makes him think that his dominus looks somehow different. After their last kiss, they break apart and Anders just smiles at him, softly resting his fingertips on Fenris’ cheek for a moment before he starts to get up with a sigh, preparing for another day. Watching him move around the room with a slight hum on his lips, it finally hits Fenris.

For the first time, Anders looks happy.


	17. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Feriae

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, but here we are again with a new chapter! Unfortunately, it's just a filler chapter, I hope I'll be able to deliver the next one faster this time, I am so sorry ;_; Thank you all for your continued support, I hope there are still a few People out there who want to read this....  
> As always, a mini glossary at the beginning!  
> feriae: lat. "vacation"  
> lentaculum: lat. "breakfast"  
> moretum: a dish that was common in Ancient Rome. Basically it's sheep cheese (alternatively grated walnuts) mixed with olive oil, salt, garlic, apium, rue, and coriander. Usually it was eaten with bread, such as the flatbread the people back then liked to eat for breakfast.  
> ludi: plural of the Latin "ludus", which is the term for the schools gladiators were trained at. There were four big ones in Rome, all controlled by the government.
> 
> Also: there is a NSFW scene later in that chapter, but it's not very long and you can skip it!
> 
> And now, have fun!

Hawke knowingly grins at them the following day during the lentaculum. Fenris pretends not to notice, but he can still feel his ears grow hot and he is quick to serve them some more flatbread. While Hawke drips honey - bought just for him, sweet, liquid gold melting on every tongue it touches and expensive enough to be not affordable on a daily basis for Anders - onto his portion with apparent appetite, Anders only puts a bit more of moretum onto his, before he grabs Fenris’s hand and gently guides him onto the bench next to him. 

“Have some apples,” he says, voice softer than it ever was before, except from how it sounded last night, and Fenris, incredibly ashamed and annoyingly embarrassed, bows his head and closes his hands around one of the sweet, fresh red apples. He likes the bitter, green ones better, but he does not say anything, only takes a bite and tries to figure out how he should behave. It was easy when they awoke together that morning, Anders’s tall figure curled up around him, the man himself snoring and occasionally mumbling as if he had been older than he actually was. Fenris counted his ribs and smoothed over the milky-white skin stretched tautly over his collarbones, all the while thinking how fragile he was despite the power inside him. It helped to think about that fragility and it helps now, even if only for a bit. 

“I was thinking of going on vacation,” Anders suddenly announces while Fenris takes another bite and Hawke chokes on the sip of milk he just took, so that it takes a while before he manages to get out, “Are you serious?”

“I absolutely am,” Anders responds and turns his head towards Fenris to look at him, amber eyes as soft as his voice. “And I hope you wish to accompany me.”

“I enjoy following you,” Fenris says because it is true; he may be a slave, but Anders has never treated him as such. Another thought occurs to him in that moment and he stares at the apple to hide it - but is it not the truth that Anders is as much a slave as he is, chained to the monstrosity inside him until the day he dies? The thought is horrifying and Fenris briefly bites his lips, but he is not one to back down from a challenge, now less than before, and so he only finishes his apple and takes another one. It is one of the green ones this time.

“I enjoy following you as well, Anders, but are you _serious_?”, Hawke interrupts Fenris’s train of thoughts. His eyes glint with curiosity as he leans forward and eyes up Anders with what looks like sheer wonderment. “I never would have thought that _you_ of all people would think of a vacation. What about the clinic?”

There is more than slight hesitation in the way Anders holds his body and Fenris wonders about the real intentions behind his suggestion, but then Anders answers, “I am sure Lirene can manage the clinic for a few days without me. I think we need a break from this city… and outside, Fenris could significantly improve his skills with a real blade with much less possibility of harming an innocent bystander while doing so.”

“Not the worst idea you’ve come up with so far,” Hawke slowly agrees, but his eyes narrow a little. Indeed, Fenris can understand him; Anders has never willingly agreed to leave his clinic alone for longer than a few hours. To hear him make that suggestion now….but Anders is still his dominus and if he decides that a vacation is desirable, then it is. Perhaps - and the thought alone is astounding, somehow - Fenris can talk to him later, in private, to ask more about it. Something about the proposal irks him; it itches underneath his skin, but despite the irritation he cannot say why. 

However, Anders seems to be in a hurry, for they start packing their necessary belongings almost right away. Fenris runs here and there, trying to assist Hawke as well as Anders and feeling foolish when Anders kisses his nose and packs Fenris’s spare tunic - and the sandals as well; just in case, Anders says, and Fenris believes him - for him because Fenris almost forgot. The business makes Fenris smile, but he tries to hold back. He still does not know where his dominus wants to go and he has to patiently wait until they’ve all gone to bed that evening. Anders is quite open for affections that night and he gives as good as he takes, peppering Fenris’s skin with little, hot kisses, warm and passionate against his throat, the hollow between his collarbones, the slightest hint of teeth scraping against one dark nipple. Fenris’s breath hitches and his toes curl; one of his hands finds its way into Anders’s golden hair and pulls it loose, fingernails scraping against his scalp.

“Anders,” he says, voice rough, and then - he pulls, and pulls more, and Anders follows, head lifted, throat exposed. Fenris watches him swallow, watches the movement of his throat and leans forward and sinks his teeth into it like a hungry wolf, like a wild animal that claims his prey, and Anders lets him, the deepest moan vibrating through the skin against Fenris’s lips. There is something hot and heavy in his stomach, spreading and spreading and claiming, and Fenris shoves, and bites, and claims, and Anders lets him, rolling onto his back, arching into his teeth and tongue and fingernails, mouth gasping, body wanting. He does not notice when the markings flare up, but he notices how Anders’s eyes roll backwards, how his body jerks underneath his own, how he spills himself into Fenris’s clumsy fingers, clumsy because he has never been more than a hole, a toy to play with, and still needs to learn raffinesse. Learning he tries - learning he does, thumbing the tip of Anders’s big cock, sucking bruises into his pale skin, growling, wanting, thanking him. Anders whimpers and jerks away from him, against him, pressing up close before moving away again, never complaining about what Fenris does, a soft moan tumbling from his chapped lips when Fenris spills himself all over him and then looks at him, breath struggling in his throat. It seems as if there is not enough air for him to suck in, but it is all a deception. There is enough air for both of them. 

Anders lets him sit on top of him and closes his eyes half-shut while Fenris lets his fingers glide over the sharp, broken angle of Anders’s nose. This is just a man, he thinks, just like all the senators and other mages are just that - men and women, mortal and vulnerable. What a strange thought to have when everything he has been taught so far seems to indicate the opposite. 

“Anders,” he says and Anders opens his eyes to look at him like a dishevelled, sleepy cat. “Why are we going on vacation?”

“Don’t you want to go on vacation?” Anders asks in return und gently strokes his knee. “Have you ever been outside the city before? There is a lot to see, you know, and I really think you should practice with a real sword in safety. I don’t want to put you into one of the ludi here in Rome just for practice...and I certainly don’t want to see you in the arena.”

“Why not?” Fenris slowly says and draws invisible patterns over Anders’s chest. “I saw gladiators before. I could beat a lot of them, with more training. If I get that kind of training in one of the ludi, I want to go there. Please.”

“You have Hawke and he is a fantastic magister for you,” Anders says and takes one of Fenris’s hands into his own. “The senate has a lot of power when it comes to the ludi. I would rather not see you near them for a while longer. We’re going on that vacation and you are going to learn quite a lot, I promise. Besides… I think I could use a break as well. There are a few things I need to think about.”

“What bothers you?” Fenris immediately asks, but Anders just smiles and shakes his head.

“Not tonight,” he says, softly, and reaches up to wrap his arms around Fenris’s neck and pull him deeper, until he is flush against him once more. “Tonight, just be with me, please. I need to...hold you, and kiss you, and think of nothing else.”  
Anders’s eyes seem darker than usual in the flickering light of the few candles in their bedroom. Fenris pays it no mind; he closes his own, leans down and kisses the corners of Anders’s mouth, probing, learning, almost like a free man.


	18. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Fuga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, buuuuut here we are again, finally! Thank you all so much for your kind feedback and you patience >_

Hawke and Fenris both give him side glances when they think he does not notice, but Anders notices every time. He knows that they are worried, and perhaps they have reason to do so; he is well aware that he has been quieter than usual every since they left the town. On the positive side, it is a beautiful day, made for spending it outside. The sun is shining kindly upon them, warming Anders’ face with gentle touches of her rays, and the daughters of the air grace their skin with cool breezes to keep the heat at bay. As they ride along the street made of cobblestones, the long grass blades sway in a swift rhythm in the wind. Anders watches Fenris look at them and hides a smile as he thinks of binding flowers into Fenris’ white hair. It is nowhere long enough to hold them for sure, but the thought is innocent and nice. Maybe Fenris would even smile at it.

But Gods, does he feel tired. 

Justice is calm in his mind, his presence only a mild, barely noticeable hum in the back of Anders’ mind; Anders’ is so used to the feeling that he does not even realize it is there until he actively searches for it. There is nothing Justice will offer him to ease his mind. The feeling of restlessness that has settled deep in Anders’ bones comes from his own fear to examine what he has done, to fill the blank spots in his memory. It is truly laughable because in the end, he has nothing learned from his past mistakes, no matter what he tries to tell himself. Restlessness in his bones and fear in his neck are what makes him spur on the horse and hunch his shoulders forward; if only they make it far enough into the country that they are safe for sure.

“Where is our destination, Anders?” Fenris asks after a while, and Anders takes a moment to revel in how bold Fenris has become, how easily questions fall from his lips already.  
“That’s something I’d be interested in as well, actually,” Hawke comments from aside and Anders rolls his eyes. Hawke and Fenris go along pretty well, now that Fenris has lost much of his initial meekness and fear more than ever, and Anders is glad for it.

“Ravenna,” he says, and, after having seen Fenris’ blank look, adds gently, “It is one of the biggest cities of the Imperium Romanum. There is talk that some people even want to relocate the capital from Rome to Ravenna, but I’m not sure they’ll ever actually do that.”

“Well, it would not be that bad of a decision,” Hawke comments, “Ravenna is a lagoon city, which strategically speaking can be defended better than Rome, even though Rome has quite impressive walls. After Attila the Hun has made it so close to them, people are probably still a little shocked, so hearing that they are looking for an alternative comes to no surprise to me - but as it is, I am currently praefectus in Ravenna, so I would have heard more about that if it was truly more than an idea at this point.”

“You’re more than a praefectus, Hawke,” Anders says with a shake of his head, turning it so that he looks at Fenris as he explains, “Hawke took over the city a few years ago. It is his by right, granted by the emperor himself.” There are ghosts creeping over his skin and settling in the fine ends of his nerves when he thinks about back then, ghosts powerful enough to draw Justice a little more into activity. He tries to suppress the ghosts, shudders, and sighs. 

“Be as that might be, Ravenna is a wonderful city and the country we have to travel through to get there is beautiful, I’m sure this will be fun, especially since we can be sure to sleep in very comfortable beds when we get there,” Hawke says with a laughter. “Any reason you decided to take a vacation in my city?”

“No, none,” Anders says after a slight pause and hates Hawke a little in this very moment because they both know that it is not true. Ravenna is where they killed Karl; Ravenna is where Anders and Justice had lost it, where Hawke killed thousands and thousands to steer them out of the madness that erupted afterwards and claimed the entire city. It was Hawke who brought order and stability, Hawke who made sure Anders could escape, Hawke who took the entire responsibility on his strong shoulders, its weight a heavy stone he carried with grace. Ravenna can never be a simple place for Anders again, nor can the reasons to visit it be simple again. Now, however, is not the time; he is not sure he is ready to face Fenris’ thoughts about what he has done when the elf would hear it. He is also not sure if he can handle telling him that he is looking for protection, for both of them, because there is a high chance that he has fucked up again. The thought makes him bite his lower lip and hunch his shoulders a little more.

“Well, I am sure that Varric will be happy to see you again,” Hawke says with a smile, not even missing a beat with his answer because he instinctively understands that now is not the right time. “And Isabela too, if she is in town. You never know with her… and since Merrill is where Isabela is, we don’t hear much from both of them if they are at sea. Sometimes I miss the good old times when my entire crew was together, you know.”

Hawke’s tone is light, but the man has his own ghosts, and in that moment, they show, even though he tries to hide them. Anders reaches over and gently squeezes his broad hand wrapped around the reins, ignoring the softly neighing horse. Hawke smiles at him, crow’s feet around his dark eyes more prominent than ever, and squeezes back for a moment before he lets go.

“How did you take Ravenna if it is such a well-defended city, magister?” Fenris asks and effectively interrupts the moment. Neither Anders nor Hawke are particularly angry about it. “You certainly could not have taken it alone, and considering that you are not Roman by birth, you most likely did not have the town’s sympathy.”

“Oh, but I had,” Hawke says with a smile that is all teeth and wickedness. “You see, I had stayed in Ecclesiamurus for quite a while and Ecclesiamurus, while being on the mainland, is the patron province of Ravenna. I made quite a name for myself there, along with the right acquaintances, and when the madness in Ravenna broke out...well, I-”

“He was the one who defended Ravenna’s citizens,” Anders interrupted, “He was the one who drew his blade first, and we only followed him, followed him gladly. I wasn’t lying when I told you that Hawke is the best magister you could wish for because he certainly is one of the most skilled people with a blade I have ever seen. He cut down demons and soldiers like a force of nature. It was only right to give him Ravenna, and the city certainly has bloomed under his care.”

“Literally flowery words for someone who has not been to Ravenna or Ecclesiamurus for so long,” Hawke teased him before he turned his attention to Fenris. “Ravenna was an important contact point for the slave trade before I took over. You’re probably going to like that I completely cleared it out of that business when I made Ravenna my city. I am planning to do that with Ecclesiamurus as well, but I can only do that slowly and steadily. Not my preferred tactic to solve things, but in this case, it would only ruin things for the victims if I were too aggressive.”

“I understand,” Fenris says after a pause, tone almost abrupt. He is quiet for quite a while; in the meantime Hawke decides to take the lead and ride a few lengths before them. It is just as well, since it gives Anders a bit of time to dwell in his thoughts. Fenris seems to do the same for some time before he looks over to Anders, clearing his throat and saying in a low voice, “You...have mentioned Ravenna in your sleep. You have been there, haven’t you, Anders?”

He can hear his breath stutter in his throat, can feel his heart trying to break out of the ribcage that contains it, and there is something bubbling up his throat, forcing his lips open - a helpless laughter, almost a cry. Hawke turns his head over his shoulder, but looks forward again when he cannot see any visible damage; and there is none, even though he is damaged enough, even though he feels like falling into pieces at this very moment. It is a simple question, simple enough to answer - and yet, it is everything he has been afraid of. This is what will cause him to lose Fenris forever. This is what will finally break him for good. He can feel it, can feel the end, and yet he forces his dry mouth to form the words, “Yes. I have been there.”

“Will you tell me what happened, what really happened?” Fenris asks, and Anders is helpless against the intense gaze from his green, green eyes, and yields.

“Yes, Fenris. I will tell you everything.”


	19. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Revelatio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, a new chapter! *rubs hands* You people and your support still amaze me <3  
> As always, a mini glossary beforehand!
> 
> revelatio: Lat. "revelation"  
> Ecclesiamurus: "Kirkwall". I made that one up, putting "ecclesia" for church (apparently kirk is a Scottish word for church) and "murus" for wall together.   
> Ravenna: kinda equals the Gallows here in that it is a lagoon city before the shores of Ecclesiamurus. Ravenna is and has also been a real city, and a pretty interesting one as well!  
> Mereduca: latinized version of Meredith. I took suggestions from here: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meredith_(given_name).  
> Orsinus: latinized version of Orsino, obviously.

They do not talk right away, and maybe it is for the best, but Anders is visibly distraught for the rest of the day and keeps to himself, not involving himself in Hawke’s and Fenris’s discussions. Fenris is worried, but something tells him to just leave Anders be for the moment, so he focuses on Hawke’s stories instead. Truly, it is remarkable and unique how equally Hawke treats him, probably even more notable than Anders’s kindness because Hawke is not just a healer living among the poorest of Rome, but a praefectus, a man rich of power and influence. What Fenris truly admires, however, is the devotion in Hawke’s voice, the fondness when he talks about the “criminal shithole of a city” he governs, as if there was gold to find underneath the dirt of the streets, as if there were important lessons to be learned from every encounter with a criminal at night, and maybe there is. Ravenna and Ecclesiamurus sound as if they were bustling with life, bursting with it, and Fenris finds himself excited to see them.

And another thing Hawke was right about: The land they have to pass through opens to them in all its beauty. Not much of it is tamed yet; sometimes the usually solid, sometimes bumpy road underneath the hooves of their horses is the only sign that Roman civilization has claimed part of it. Fenris now understands why Anders thought that a vacation outside of the city would do him some good; at the few occasions he was allowed to accompany Danarius into other cities, he spent the entire trip to his feet in the luxurious carriage his master owned, never getting even so much as a glance outside of the window. Everything he has missed, everything there is, now is laid bare before his eyes. The scent of flowers is everywhere, sometimes heady and strong, sometimes subtle and sweet, accompanying vast fields in red and gold and blue and green, so different from the stench of Rome, the dirtied streets and overlapping of a thousand voices. They find the odds in their favor because there is a breeze rustling through the green leaves of the trees they pass by, carrying even more scents with it and gently licking at their skin. Still, the sun is hot, but Fenris finds that he does not mind so much; it is clean sweat he produces, and it leads to them shedding their clothes at least partially so that the occasional riders or carriages passing by them must think they are barbarians. Fenris finds that he enjoys that as well.

They do not talk the following day as well, nor the day after. In the evenings, they stop wherever there is a suitable place. Sometimes they arrive at a small village just in time and are able to get a room in some tavern. Small villages, Fenris discovers, all look the same, and their inhabitants do so as well, but at least there is the possibility of a bath in some of them and if not, there is water to at least get a wash-down. People look at them funnily, sometimes calling Anders a Viking and Hawke a heathen. One day where they all share a bathtub to scrub each other clean, Anders tells of his mother, fair-haired and strong, but not strong enough, northern blood and Germanic blood both running through her veins. Hawke, in turn, talks about his father, his kind heart and powerful frame, talks about how he has tried to nurture fields like a farmer when he was a mage, and there is such love and adoration in his voice that tears form in his eyes when he laughs about it. Fenris wishes that he could tell them something as well, but he has no family he can still remember, so his voice is silent. He does not know if it is longing he feels at the thought of a family that does not exist, roots he cannot remember; maybe it does not matter that much. 

One evening, they sleep underneath the stars and drink too much wine. Anders kisses him, passion thick and wistful in the way his fingers tangle with Fenris’s hair and his lips seek Fenris’s, and Fenris longs for it, reaches for it. There are a thousand freckles spread on Anders’s pale skin like stars, and Fenris maps them all out with his fingers and kisses while Hawke watches them with kind eyes, silent and partially hidden by the shadows licking around the fireplace. Anders’s thighs tremble around him as they come together and Fenris finds himself lost in Anders’s body, in the warmth around him, their mingled sweat cool on their skin in the gentle nightly breeze. For the first time, Fenris really feels as if chains inside him have broken; he is free, free to kiss Anders, free to decide their speed and rhythm, free to be in this beautiful, mild summer night under Hawke’s kind eyes. They make love, and they sleep, tangled in each other, sharing their breath and dreams.

When the morning dawns, Anders holds him in his arms and starts talking. 

He speaks of a heartbreakingly young mage on the run after a slaughter in his village, troubled and half-dead as he stumbled on a battlefield having left behind. Death lingered in every corner of the field, present in the charred, broken corpses, present in the stale air full of blood, in the life slowly trickling out of the young mage’s equally broken body. Ghosts haunted the forgotten battlefield, and some of them turned out to be more than ghosts. The young mage, dying and afraid, called out for help, and an equally lost being answered. They merged, and they have never been the same again since that very moment, and their rage because of all the injustice there is in the world doubled, but they were no longer helpless.

Warriors found them, and they went with them because they were of Anders’s blood and they sought to protect the old Gods and the secrets that kept them asleep, the secrets that accompanied their awakening. It was a simple life, but not enough; their rage was still there, growing stronger every day and the mage that had always been only a healer suddenly turned into a killer of those who wronged him and everyone like him. When Romans found them, the Spirit of Justice, a proud and fine, but wounded warrior in the body of a gentle and fine, but wounded mage, took over and slaughtered them all. Anders woke in blood, blood on his hands and blood on his lips, blood on his tongue and blood in his dreams. He fled, no longer worthy to stay with the Ascanen Wahtâri and desperate to right the wrongs inflicted. 

And then, Hawke came and gave them a purpose, a direction.

They wandered together, them and the rest of Hawke’s crew of misfits, each of them fiercely loyal towards the charismatic man that had taken them under his wing. Yes, Hawke had managed to not only rally them, but entire tribes to follow them, had managed to fight his way to the top of the food chain in Ecclesiamurus. But while he thrived, people like Anders were suffering. Mages had it the worst, being imprisoned in the catacombs of Ravenna their entire lives, killed and raped and forgotten under Mereduca’s mad command. Mereduca was a woman, but what a woman she was, having followed her husband as successor for the position as praefectus by playing her cards well and showing an iron fist from the beginning. Mereduca was a woman, but what a woman she was, with blue eyes cold as ice and merciless as winter, her only Gods the rules she made and enforced. Anders tried to help the mages flee, tried to help people with his medical skills, tried to support Hawke wherever he needed him, but it was not enough, both for him and Justice. As madness took over Mereduca, took over the cities of Ecclesiamurus and Ravenna, madness born out of desperation and too much rage out of helplessness took over Anders and Justice.

This time, Anders woke in flames. Flames that licked over the stones of Ravenna, flames that swallowed people whole in their greed. And the screams, the screams were everywhere, a result from what they had done, a result from the Chantry that had gone up in flames. And once again, death lingered in every corner, laughing at the healer who tried to fight it, yet always only brought more death because he had not understood that revenge never brings people back and never can right what has been wronged up to that point, but waking up in flames caused him to realize. Hawke had let him live, had given him a chance he had not deserved, a chance to correct his mistakes, to heal himself and the world. After they had restored order in Ravenna again, after Mereduca had been killed together with Grand Enchanter Orsinus and Hawke had been made praefectus, Anders and Justice had left. They had wandered again, aimlessly, for years and years without a sense of time, and then they had reached Rome, the Eternal City full of poor people, sick people, and they had found life and a vague feeling of satisfaction in a simple life among simple people.

When Anders finally stops talking, the sun is high above them in the clear, blue sky. Fenris looks up and tries to imagine the fire, the people that must have died horribly back then, and it is so difficult to reconcile that image of a raving, half-mad man blowing up half of the city in an act of vengeance to fulfill his desire for justice with the man Fenris has gotten to know, the kind-hearted, soft-spoken healer that had given him time to heal himself, had given him love. There is sadness in Anders’s eyes, a sadness that will last forever, and maybe that is the worst punishment there is for what he has done; he is the one who has to live with the consequences forever. Fenris cannot grant him the absolution his lover silently pleads for with amber eyes, nobody can, and he is not sure someone should. Still, he takes Anders’s hand, the one that has touched him gently so often by now, the one that he has seen heal many, many people, and he lifts it to place a small kiss against the inside of his palm. 

“What you did cannot be forgiven,” he tells Anders and the mage’s shoulders sag down as if dragged by a heavy weight. His head lifts when Fenris continues, “Nobody can forgive you for that, not even yourself, and maybe that is how it is meant to be. I will not leave you, however. Your heart is still good, and I believe that your rage is gone. If it ever returns, you need someone to keep you in check.”

Anders smiles, eyes watering as he closes them and presses Fenris’s hand against his cheek. They stay like that for a while, deeply embraced and watched silently by Hawke with kind eyes and a vigilant heart.


	20. CHAPTER NINETEEN: Ecclesiamurus

They reach Ecclesiamurus when the sun stands highest on the sky, smiling kindly upon them. A strange feeling has formed in Anders’ chest; it is not sadness, but not joy either, reminding him of longing without quite being longing. Maybe it is nostalgia, maybe it is the feeling that something new will begin here, at this place where so many old memories linger in every crooked corner. Somehow, he is excited at the prospect of being able to share them with Fenris, maybe make some new ones with him along the way. 

When they pass the city gates, Anders perks up at seeing a familiar face in the crowd, a smile appearing on his face when it turns out that it is indeed quite familiar. Varric walks out of the shadows, wearing a richly embroidered tunic which does nothing to hide the golden, glorious patch of hair on his broad chest. On his side, a tall woman with dark skin and golden eyes winks at him, tossing her unbound, long, dark hair back before she walks towards them, hips swinging in the scandalously short white tunic she is wearing, the broad, golden and bejeweled necklace glinting in the sun along with the golden earrings and the many, many rings on her fingers, sandals laced up until above her knees. 

“Hawke!” Isabela yells and then, with joyful laughter in her voice, “Anders!”

“Isabela, my old girl!” Anders yells back and dismounts his horse. There is a slight tremble in his hands, but Justice murmurs and urges him to go on, to move forward, and he does in more than one way. Just one step it is, but with this step something inside him lightens and he realizes that he is smiling broadly as he embraces Isabela tightly. She still smells of salt and the sea and her arms around Anders are strong and bold. He loves her for it, adores her for how unashamed she is in what she wants and needs and how she takes the freedom to go everywhere she wants to. Isabela is a child of the sea and has never been anything else; her soul is wild.

**It is not always a good thing to have a wild soul. It is not always a good thing to know no bounds and no importance beside oneself.**

_I know. But still…sometimes I wish I could do the same._

Justice hums in his mind, but there is no anger. They both have changed in more than one way, Anders thinks, and is happy about it. Isabela, however, has not changed much and it is not surprising at all that he knows she has noticed Fenris when he can feel her perk up. “Who is that?”

“Oh, this is Fenris,” he says and lets go of her to wave Fenris to come closer. Anders can see him hesitate for a second before Fenris dismounts and shuffles closer. There is tension in his limbs again, an echo of the tension he carried around for so long before he opened up, and Anders hates to see it returned in his shoulders and the way he slightly hunches forward, eyes downcast. “Fenris. This is Captain Isabela, one of my and Hawke’s dearest friends.”

“And what about me?” Varric interrupts before Fenris has the chance to respond, slapping good-naturedly Anders’s hip before grinning up at him. “Blondie, I would have never thought to see you again in Ecclesiamurus in this lifetime! And with such a pretty company, too, Isabela is never going to stop ogling him until he leaves town again.”

“Damn right,” Isabela purrs and looks at Fenris with interest in her eyes that Anders knows quite well, but this time it causes him to twist his mouth and wrap an arm around Fenris’s hip. The elf is tense and quiet, but by now he has lifted his head to openly glare at Isabela, which Anders counts as a small success, even though Isabela only laughs. “Now, now, Anders, I think he doesn’t like me! Could it be that he fancies blond men with weird spirits inside them more than me?”

“In fact, he does,” Fenris snarls before Anders can even open his mouth, and there is such fierceness in his voice that Anders blinks in surprise. Hawke, who has come closer in the meantime, is grinning madly now, nodding at Varric in something that resembles fatherly pride, which Anders would have found highly amusing, were it not for the fact that he is too focused on the intensity in Fenris’ green eyes to give attention to much else. “The mage is mine. Well…” he visibly falters a little, probably taken aback by his own words while Anders gets weak knees. “He is not mine, but he is with me. Out of his own will. And I am with him because I want to.”

“Ah, I see,” Isabela nods, understanding dawning in her eyes. She is cleverer than one might assume, Anders absently thinks, and certainly people often forget about her intelligence, condemning her for being a free-spirited woman in a society that puts married women into the position of head of the household and unmarried ones into those of whores or marriage potential, and nothing else. “You’re a slave, aren’t you?”

“Only theoretically,” Anders snaps to conceal Fenris’s growl, “He is a free man!”

Isabela’s brows shoot up into the air and he is certain that there will be questions later, but for now she only shrugs and tosses her untamed hair back behind her shoulders. “Alright, darling, alright,” she says in almost comforting tone, “Then take your lover boy here and come with us. Merrill, Aveline and Donnic are waiting for us at the Hanged Man. Well, technically they are waiting for Anders – no offense, Hawke, darling –, but they’ll welcome you with open arms.”

“Well, I don’t necessarily need to see Merrill, but…” Anders begins, but it is just like old times because Isabela, Hawke and Varric simply ignore him and start walking into the direction of the Hanged Man. Fenris looks over to him, insecurity written all over his face even though he tries to hide it with a slight scowl, and so Anders just smiles and gently takes his arm.

“What can I say, I can’t even be mad at Isabela – you’re really beautiful,” he tells him and Fenris just rolls his eyes, but he is smiling slightly as he takes the reins of both his and Anders’s horse into one hand. They trail behind Hawke, Isabela and Varric, and Anders watches Fenris drink in the city. Ecclesiamurus is different than Rome in many ways; where Rome is chaos, Ecclesiamurus is divided in Pars Obscurus, where only the poorest of the poorest live, the ones Ecclesiamurus has no use for, the ones that have been forgotten by everyone. For many years, Pars Obscurus has been his home where he has spent many hours of his life trying to heal everyone. There has never been a chance that he succeeds, but at least he can be assured that he has tried his best. Pars Humilis is where the taverns and the fori for the lower people are, the ones that do not live in Pars Nobilis and are part of the plebs. It is no surprise that Varric thrives in this part of the city from which he can cast his nets all over the town and send his eyes and ears into every corner. Pars Humilis is the one part of the city that has the closest resemblance to the Roman district Anders has lived in for the last few years. Pars Nobilis, however, reminds him of the part of Rome where the senate is set, and the Forum Romanum for all the important meet-ups in town where plebs and patricii mingle. There is no such thing as mingling in Ecclesiamurus; walls are everywhere, visible and invisible, and Anders hates it even more than before. Apparently, Fenris is not overly fond of the mood in Ecclesiamurus as well because his ears are constantly twitching in slight annoyance, but he does not say a single thing and allows Anders to gently push him through the doors of the Hanged Man.

“Anders!” Merrill yells, and she is happier to see him than he is in return, but maybe he should be grateful for it. It was Merrill whose opinion was to give him a chance for redemption back when he and Justice had almost destroyed Ravenna. The years have left their traces on Merrill despite being an elf, and it is fascinating to see her with a new haircut while she proudly wears the clothes of her people. This Merrill is not the innocent-looking blood mage playing with powers too big for her; it almost seems as if she has grown into her shoes, even though Anders stays cautious and only gives her a weary smile. Aveline, however, looks much the same as Anders remembers her, even though there are new lines around the corners of her mouth and the corners of her eyes. Her smile is tired, but a fire glows in her eyes and her entire posture is full of strength. When he discovers Donnic’s hand gently upon hers, Anders smiles a little. He has always liked Donnic, and he has the slight feeling that Fenris will like him as well. 

“Hello,” he says, and it is strange to see all of them reunited together – except Sebastian, who is most likely never going to come back together after having left in rage and the desire for vengeance. It almost feels like home. It almost feels as if it is how it is meant to be.

Of course, this means that it cannot last.


	21. CHAPTER TWENTY: Amor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, have another filler chapter before it gets down to business - NSFW, so beware!
> 
> As always, thank you all for your lovely support <3

There will be pain later, but for now, they feast.

And feasting they do. Hawke seems to be genuinely happy to have them all together at last and as the evening goes on, Fenris begins to understand. He has never had something akin to family, or at least if he did have one, he cannot remember anything of it. There is nothing, nobody he belongs to, no family name he can call his name, no place of origin and no date of birth, but he has this: The warmth of Anders’ hand in his own, so accepting of him simply grabbing and holding it, a belly he can fill with bread, cheese, green and red apples, wine from the finest grapes in the entire country, or so Hawke says, ears he can listen to Varric’s stories with, a heart that keeps beating steadily, feet that are firmly planted onto the ground. 

_All of this is mine_ , Fenris thinks to himself and thinks that he could take on Danarius now, that he could him, thinks that he is allowed to picture his hands around Danarius’ throat. He does not want to kill him with a sword, nor with an axe or a morning star, though all of these would inflict severe pain. He should kill him like that and he knows; an honorable murder, for some an admirable one even, but something inside him screams for making Danarius’ death as personal as Danarius has made his entire life, a living nightmare, an existence in chains. He listens to the table conversations, listens to Merrill’s pearly laugh and Isabela’s deep, rumbling chuckle, looks at the way Varric rubs his hands together whenever he is particularly pleased about something, looks at Anders and thinks that they could find a family here, a home, peace even.

There is no such thing as a happy end for someone like him, but for the first time in what may be ages, Fenris allows himself to dream. He dreams of living between these people, getting to know them better than it is possible on a single evening. He dreams of having a space to live at with Anders, one he paid for as well, one he owns as well, a home they can decorate and care for together. He dreams of a quiet life with many feasts like this one. When Anders looks at him with a quiet, almost cheeky smile, he finds himself returning it. And Anders’ hand is still so warm; Fenris squeezes it a little, feels nerves and bones in it, feels his own heart tremble with delight about it. All of this is his, most of all the freedom to excuse himself and Anders and take his lover to bed. Maybe Anders understands, even though he cannot know for sure that this is where Anders’ thoughts are at the moment. No matter how far away his lover – not his dominus, not in the first place, maybe in the second, but for the first time it feels like a foreign concept – is with his mind, he returns to him and focuses with a smile when Fenris leans up on his tiptoes and kisses him. And this is a freedom too, just being able to kiss the person he chose to be with, to feel them return his kiss, to feel their warmth. 

Anders does not protest when they land in the bed Hawke has prepared for them in his villa, a bed that is so unlike the hard, stony bed Anders uses in his clinic. For a brief moment, Fenris wonders if they will ever return to the clinic, then the thought passes and he is in the here and now again, pressing Anders against soft fur and silk on a proper mattress, tangling his fingers in long, golden hair, smiling when Anders’ stubble scratches along his cheeks. Anders is smiling too, which is probably the best part of this, smiling and smiling enough to chase away the always lingering shadows of sadness in his eyes and it causes Fenris’ heart to flutter even more. He allows it because he can, because he is part of this situation, is the one that initiated it, because he is in control and not forced to do something. It makes it easy to pull Anders above himself, makes it easy to discover that he rather likes the feeling. Anders is too bony to properly bury him underneath him, which is perfectly alright; any possible discomfort is chased away by Anders’ gentle fingers. He does not ask and Fenris would not have answered anyways, but they understand each other nevertheless and Fenris’ heart flutters with it all. 

He is still in control when Anders softly murmurs the helpful little spell that makes his fingers all greasy, greasy enough to slide them over Fenris’ hard cock, his balls and past that until it is almost too much, too clouded with bad memories. He does not realize that he is trembling until Anders kisses him with a hushed sound, curling up around him until he feels as if he was the one stroking and comforting Anders and not the other way round. It is what he wants, in a way; he wants to provide, to protect, and he wants to feel, wants this, so he tells Anders to move his fingers because he is the one in control and this is a completely different situation than way back when. Still, he gasps when the first finger slips inside him and moves, but Anders’ lips find his own and he loses himself in it after a while, loses himself enough to barely notice the second finger. They are warm and secure; for a while, nothing will be able to hurt them and it shows in the way they kiss, in Anders’ slow, unhurried and thorough preparation that causes a burn in Fenris’ belly, a burn in his loin, causes him to grunt and growl in want and causes Anders to smile in satisfaction. 

When Anders finally stretches him with his cock, it is almost too much, but Fenris is still in control. He knows that he could push Anders off at any given time. He knows that he can just say “stop” and Anders will, that this is for him as much as for Anders and he does not want to push Anders off nor tell him to stop. Instead, he grips Anders’ shoulders a little tighter, urges him forward not with words, but with motions, growling when Anders murmurs in his ear that the way he curls up his toes is adorable. His words are nothing like the overly sweet, poisonous compliments he got from Danarius, just like the way Anders treats him and his body is nothing like the way Danarius treated him. Still, for a moment there is fear, as irrational as it may be, and Anders seems to sense it because he slows down, halfway inside him, and kisses his tightly-shut eyelids, takes his face into his hands and murmurs sweet nothings until Fenris can focus on their mingling breaths, until he can focus on their lips meeting and the point where they are united in such a frightfully good way. 

He is surprised when Anders grips his hips and rolls them over until Fenris finds himself sitting on his lover, gasping for breath because he suddenly is very deeply impaled. Anders’ cock is almost too big to handle and having him fully inside is bordering on too much, but Fenris breathes deeply and evenly, tells himself that he is in control – and he is, in this position more than before, which probably is exactly what Anders wanted in the first place. There is nothing he can say in gratitude that would not sound stupid or out of place, so he simply leans down and kisses him and begins to move, carefully and slowly at first and for the most part of what is to come, but Anders does not seem to mind. He is content with keeping a hand on Fenris’ hip, locking their lips together again while he follows the rhythm Fenris sets, follows him everywhere, really, and maybe that is the true mystery of it all.

They come together in a slow, unhurried pace just like before, arms and breaths and smiles and kisses tangled into each other, and Fenris’ head swims with it all, but he finds that he likes it so much, loves Anders so much, loves the freedom, the control about himself. _All of this is mine_ , Fenris thinks and comes all over Anders’ hand that has been slowly jerking him off for the bigger part of their coupling, his pale fingers smeared with cum and precum. He can feel Anders shudder in completion mere moments after and it is a strange sensation to feel him shudder in completion inside him, but it feels right and it is wanted. They stroke each other’s faces afterward for a long time and Anders is there, holding him close, helping him part from him without the process being a hurtful thing, stroking him afterwards and allowing Fenris to hold him in his arms. They sleep tangled in each other while their friends feast in joy outside in the garden, and their quiet and rest is an entirely wholesome thing, a circumstance born out of utter closeness.

In the morning, Danarius has arrived in town.


	22. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Adora quod incendisti, incende quod adorasti

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, my loves. This is going to be the last chapter of "Metamorphosis". There will be an epilogue sometime later,but this is where it ends. I am so grateful for all of your loving support - all those comments, likes, bookmarks, subscribes mean a lot to me. I am so happy that people like what I write - thank you very much for accompanying me on this journey. 
> 
> There is nothing I have to explain in this chapter, no need of a mini glossary, no need of anything, except this: The chapter's title is a saying that means "Pray to what you burned, burn to what you have prayed". I just hope that you'll enjoy reading it!

The night before the ending, Anders dreams.

As it always is with fights that are not one’s own, the dream that comes to him has nothing to do with it. It is his own dream, a dream Justice has allowed and probably even sent him, and he is grateful for it. When he wakes up, he cannot remember much except for golden light and warmth, warmth that is mirrored in Fenris’ body tucked against his side, Fenris’ long, dark lashes resting on his cheeks like feathers as he sleeps, undisturbed for once. 

There is a tender moment where he gently strokes Fenris’ cheek and smiles, heart surprisingly light, and then all of the Gods’ fury breaks loose.

At least, that is what it feels like. In reality, it is just Hawke storming into their room, his face clouded with thinly-veiled anger and worry. There is something unsettled in his stance and the way he moves is that of a caged animal. Anders has experienced firsthand that this is the Hawke that has freed Ravenna and Kirkwall; this is the Hawke everyone is respectful of and this is the reason why he will always, always feel safe with him. Beside him, Fenris has woken up as soon as Hawke so much as even touched the door, sitting upright with mussed hair and blazing eyes. Maybe he already knows what Hawke is about to say even before the man has opened his eyes because a low growl escapes the elf’s throat. 

“He is here,” Hawke says without any preamble and Fenris just nods, growling even louder. Something catches in Anders’ throat, his heart leaping, the blood rushing in his ears. There is not much he fears, not with Hawke at his side and Justice inside of him, but this is not his fight, not by any means at all, and thus he is more helpless than ever. Hawke continues while Fenris jumps out of his bed and quickly dresses in his tunic. “He arrived here a few hours ago. Came with a dozen slaves and a woman – dark hairs, blue eyes?”

“Hadriana,” Fenris says, his voice as sharp as a thorn. There is something in his face that turns the man Anders loves into something ugly, but it is an ugliness Anders understands and, in this case, supports. There is something beautiful in this dark ugliness as well; Fenris has finally understood how to stand up for himself. “She is Danarius’ right hand, the daughter of another senator and very ambitious. She honestly believes that one day, she will be able to sit in the senate, and Danarius always fed that belief out of some reason.”

“Loyalty,” Anders hears himself say and Fenris looks at him, alert and attentive like a cat that is ready to pounce a mouse. Anders knows that he is not the mouse in this scenario, and yet he shivers slightly before he elaborates, “By supporting her ambitions that will never bring him into danger, he has gained her unwavering loyalty because he seems to be the only one supporting her. Clever, that, I have to give him that. She’s a mage too, I suppose?”

“She is,” Fenris confirms and reaches for his sword. “And she is even worse than Danarius.”

Anders snorts in disbelief, quieting when Fenris shoots him a withering look and says quietly, but with burning eyes, “She was. She used to be in charge whenever Danarius was not around and found joy in denying me my meals….whenever she had enough time, she would keep me from falling asleep, watching me grovel in front of her feet and begging for mercy because she knew I couldn’t do anything to her as long as she did not physically hurt me. She was untouchable.” When Fenris smiles, it is sharp and unhappy. “I am going to watch her grovel in front of my feet and die there and I am going to enjoy it.”

There is nothing more to say about it. Hawke and Anders look at each other for a brief moment in some sort of silent agreement. Justice stirs, murmurs in his head, but it is Anders and not Justice who thinks that Fenris is entitled to this, that sometimes there is no other option than violence. It frightens him, that thought, frightens him unbearably so because he has already been on this point before – it was different, back then, different in many ways, and Justice hums his agreement. There is nothing just in letting someone like Danarius or Hadriana live freely, undisturbed and protected by their power. Something flickers at the edge of Anders’ consciousness, a thought or perhaps a memory that does not form completely, so he pushes it out of his mind as far as he can.

“Let’s go,” Hawke says, but it is Fenris who leads the way. Anders watches his movements that are nothing but barely controlled anger and so much power that it spills over the edges that make out Fenris at the moment. He knows that Hawke is watching him too and for the first time since he introduced them, he wonders if Hawke finds Fenris attractive as well. It does not matter, not really; Fenris is his and he belongs to Fenris, everything else can be handled. What a strange feeling it is to belong to someone, Anders muses; even though it probably is not the right time to muse, he cannot help himself. At least the thoughts give him strength for what is to come. And still, even though the bigger part of him thinks that killing Danarius and ending all of this is the right thing to do, there still is a smaller part of him that thinks otherwise, a part that is still burned and scarred from what he has done in his past. Fighting fire with fire seldom ends well; he worries for Fenris, worries in more than one way and wonders if there really is nothing he would not do for him. 

He does not have much time to wonder. The city is deadly quiet the closer they come to the Hanged Man and Anders finds that the is angry at Danarius for meeting them right here, at this tavern Anders has only fond memories of, fond memories that are going to be tainted by blood in the nearer future. There is nothing he can do about it except being angry and so he lets the emotion fuel him; Justice’s presence crackling blue at his fingertips. All his life, Anders had tried to be nothing more than a healer until he realized that there can only be life where there is death as well. This is what life holds for him and a part of him has accepted this fate long ago. He smiles when he discovers that Isabela, Merrill and Varric are already waiting for them in front of the Hanged Man, but the smile quickly drops into a frown when he discovers the grim look on Isabela’s and Varric’s face and Merrill’s utterly worried gaze. 

“Looks pretty bad,” Varric immediately mutters when they are close enough. “Your favorite evil senator has pretty much set up camp in here, the tavern’s full of scared slaves cowering in the corners while Danarius just…sits there.”

“Any civilians in there?” Hawke is all business now, Anders can see it in his posture and the dangerous glint in his eyes, the way his fingers lovingly stroke the hilt of his sword with the movements of an experienced swordfighter.

Varric nods while Isabela shifts over to one of the smudged windows of the tavern and carefully peers into it from the side. “Yeah. Apparently he’s keeping the innkeeper in the inn – pun not intended – and lets him cater to his needs. I have no idea what the slaves are for.”

“Blood,” Fenris says and the word drips darkly from his beautiful lips. For a moment there is nothing but silence as all of them take in his words and realize their meaning. It is entirely unnecessary for Fenris to add, “He is using them for his blood magic and probably plans to sacrifice them to get me back – or at least, to get the lyrium in my veins back.”

“Well,” Hawke says and breaks the second silence that follows as they all awkwardly swap gazes. “Better not lose any time then.”

Fenris nods and there is that. He is the one to push open the door of the tavern and he is the one who sets the first foot into it. He does not walk – he leaps into it, all tense muscles and burning eyes, and the sword glints menacingly in his hands. Anders feels a terrible swelling in his chest, his heart that is threatening to burst through his bones because of pride and because of worry. This is not what he has taught Fenris – this is the path Fenris himself has chosen, and he should be nothing but proud of him. 

Hadriana is nowhere to be found, but Danarius is watching all of them with a bemused smile twitching around his lips that makes Anders want to bury his fist in his perfect teeth. He is a man where age does not seem like a weakness but a strength, and he knows, he knows perfectly well. The toga he is wearing is made entirely of purple; the color of emperors, the color of blood, the color that stinks of money, wealth and power, especially if it dyes the finest of silk. Anders thinks of the hopeless creature Fenris has once been, this heap of misery shackled and chained kneeling at his feet, barely daring to talk to him, all because of the man in front of him that is watching them with an entirely too amused smile, only a hint of malicious sharpness grazing the corners of his eyes and mouth. There are other slaves as well, just as Varric told them; most of them are elves, bound and shackled as Fenris once has been, thrown into the corners like dolls even though their eyes are alive and watching them fearfully. Some of the youngest, barely old enough to stand and hiding in the arms of their older companions, are crying – silently, so as not to wake their master’s ire. He does not even notice Justice cracking up his skin with blue light, only sees it mirrored in Danarius’ empty eyes. Nobody has to speak out loud that this is Fenris’ show; they all silently gather behind him, ready to be there when he needs them and otherwise stand back. And yet, nobody has to speak out loud that it is they duty to help the slaves. From the corners of his eyes, Anders watches Isabela and Merrill move silently, shielded by Hawke's and Varric's and Anders' bodies. It is worth a try, at least.

“Well, my little wolf,” Danarius says and his voice is so very soft, almost like a purr, a cooing perhaps, a sound one produces to bait a helpless little bird with broken wings trapped in a room it tries to flee from in sheer terror. “This is how we meet again. Come here.”

“This is not how we meet again,” Fenris replies and every single word coming out of his mouth is sharp enough to stab someone. “This is how you die.”

Danarius chuckles at that, slowly rising from his stool as if standing up from a throne, and Anders hates him, hates him with a burning passion because despite the anger and hatred in Fenris’ entire demeanor, Danarius’ movement causes him to flinch. It is only the fraction of a flinch, but Danarius catches it well and smiles almost indulgently as he extends his hand towards Anders’ lover. “Don’t be angry at me for giving you up, little wolf. What shall I say – I take extremely bad to being poisoned. That was not very nice of you, now was it? A small punishment was required for you to learn your place again. After all, that is what a good master does, isn’t it? He takes care that everything is exactly where it is supposed to be.” Another chuckle follows when Fenris snarls, but does not move from his spot, even as Danarius slowly takes a step towards him and continues to softly talk to him while doing so. “I have enough of this charade, my darling. Isn’t this tiresome for you, this life with a master that cannot even control his own life, that has no clue how to keep things and situations in order, that is chaos himself and cannot ever give you what you need, sets you no boundaries and watches over you? Come back to me, Fenris. After all, it was me who shaped you in the first place.”

“It was you who destroyed me,” Fenris growls and now it is him who moves and walks closer to Danarius, one step at a time, bloodlust in every move. “It was you who tore me into pieces and broke me, again and again, it was you who wiped out my memories, who never told me who I was before, who never saw anything but a plaything in me-“

“Ah, but you’re wrong as always,” Danarius interrupts and his smile is slippery like a snail’s trail. “You never were just a plaything for me. You always were special for me – I love you, I adore you, which is why I want you back. It has been terrible without you, my little wolf. Come back to me, I will forgive you. We will work things out, you and me.”

Anders thought that he has seen and experienced enough terror in his life to last for centuries, to not even blink in moments like this, but right now he feels terror slowly creeping through his veins into his neck and upwards, upwards, threatening to take over his rationality. Terror is this: Fenris hesitating, the slow in his steps, Danarius smiling, smiling, smiling, Danarius extended hand that is eyed by Fenris as if he considers taking it. Terror is this: Not knowing what is going on in Fenris’ head, a danger he is helpless against because the enemy is all in Fenris’ head, Danarius is all in Fenris head, having played with his mind for years, having tamed and broken him over and over. Terror is this: Knowing how hard it is to break the hold of invisible shackles in your mind, not knowing whether Fenris will be able to, not knowing whether he will lose him or not. 

“You will not take him,” he hears himself say, only that it is not just him, but Justice as well, and it booms through the entire tavern, rattles from the walls and wipes the smile from Danarius’ lips, replacing it with a slight frown. From the corners of his eyes, he can see Fenris snap out of the poisonous mind trap Danarius has captured him with and tighten the grip on his sword.

“You have been very impolite,” Danarius informs him and now his voice is cold as ice. “And you probably don’t even remember what you did to my dear Hadriana, what with having torn her right into pieces with your demon. It is only fortunate that I still knew how to enlist her services.”

At his beckoning, something moves in the shadows at the end of the stairs that lead to the guest quarters of the tavern. Behind him, Anders can hear Isabela breathe in sharply at the creature that slowly staggers down the stairs. Once, it has been a woman with dark hair in a fine, silky blue tunic, a woman with a well-shaped figure and a haughty chin. By now, only a shadow of that is still recognizable. Dead skin stretches taught over bones that are moved like those of a puppet on strings, pulled by none other than Danarius. Hadriana jerks grotesquely in her tunic that has once been blue but is now red from long-dried, crusted blood, her empty eye sockets the only thing that is left from once piercing-blue eyes. As her corpse descends the stairs, her jaw rattles like wind howling around an abandoned home. Varric mutters something in Anders’ back; the words are lost to him, but he hears the shock well and he probably is not the only one that remembers Hawke’s mother and her fate. It is that moment as well where he remembers what he has done that day that has been lost to him through his blackout, remembers the blood and the screams, flashes of flesh clawed open by hands that are and are not his own, and he shudders, but does not feel sorry in any way. He is not sure if that is something positive.

“An eye for an eye,” Danarius says quietly, “You took mine, now I am taking yours. That is the balance of the world.”

“People,” Fenris replies, “Are not things you can throw around. And I don’t give a damn about the balance of the world, and I don’t give a damn about your sick imagination of love.”

He hurls his sword at Danarius right at the moment where Hadriana, or what is left of her, lurches forward and tries to rip his face open with her unnaturally sharp claws. But she is a corpse no matter how expertly Danarius handles her, and corpses cannot compete with a living being. Fenris tears her apart without even batting an eyelash. What is left of her, nothing but rotting flesh and decaying corpses held together by magic and lingering threads of bloody fabric, splatters down on the dirty wooden floor of the tavern. Anders breathes in, breathes out; there is death everywhere.

“Naughty wolf,” Danarius says oh so very quietly. The only thing telling what is about to happen is the angry glint in his eyes and by the time Anders has understood, it is too late. Danarius has nothing to lose and his greed as well as the sheer desire to get everything he wants to possess, Fenris included, know no boundaries. Anders is not sure if there even have ever been boundaries for Danarius before; there are good men that lose the right way, and then there are men who have never known anything else but the long-winded, merciless street of power. It is power Danarius seeks now as well, and as always it is not him who has to pay the price. 

Justice roars in Anders’ heart and lungs and ears as the bodies fall in the corners like flies, their eyes suddenly empty from light. Death claims them by surprise, turning their gaze upwards to the sky in some desperate search for gods that never answer their calls, but death is not merciful, coming to them in long, deep, suddenly opening gashes in their bodies. It is the youngest that bleed the most, the youngest that have been cowering in the arms of others – dead, just like that, dead for an incredibly selfish reason. Anders weeps for them without shedding a tear, watching – because he needs to watch, he needs to remember the cruelty of the world, that there will always be men like Danarius – as their blood flows in deep, dark red rivers closer to Danarius, engulfs him and gives him new strength. Anders breathes in, breathes out; there is death everywhere and he is sick of it. From the corners of his eyes, he sees Merrill standing there shell-shocked, the blood on her clothes still warm from where she has tried to pull another child out of the tavern and into the light. They have not saved enough, perhaps two or three at best, and Merrill's ugly tears echo in Anders' heart and Hawke's stony face. There are things and actions that cannot be forgiven.

And there is Fenris, glorious and bright in their fury, rivalling even Hawke’s greatness because he shows no fear as he swings his sword at Danarius, shows no sign of capitulation as it slides off on the field of protection Danarius has thrown around himself. Shades emerge from the floor like flowers of terror and Anders is thankful, grateful, really, for an opportunity to take out his anger and sadness. He is not alone with that notion; alongside him, his friends battle the shades with equal fervor, slicing and cutting through them, gutting them like fish, like the lifeless beings they truly are, because nothing good could ever come from someone like Danarius. And this is the reason why Fenris has not been made by him; Fenris is beautiful, glorious and bright in a room full of sadness and death, hitting and hitting and never giving up, and Anders loves him, Anders loves him, Anders loves him.

It is not his fight and yet, it feels as if part of the victory is his as well when Fenris breaks through the barrier around Danarius and strikes him down. Anders and Justice both watch with the same pair of eyes as Fenris stands over him, glorious and bloody and fierce, and there is fear in Danarius’ eyes for the first time as he realizes that Fenris is not a creature that he has made, that Fenris is something else altogether, that he can be death, but only the one that is justified and only the one that is merciful. And there is more fear as he realizes that even a merciful death can be cruel, that it can stand there motionless, watching, that it can mean one single cut over a throat, shallow enough to watch, motionless, as a throat sputters with blood, slowly suffocating on it. Danarius is ungraceful as he dies, crawling underneath Fenris’ naked feet as he dies, eyes flickering with deep, deep terror as he dies, and dies, and dies. 

And then, after one last, wet sound, he lays still.

Fenris watches him still, even as the tavern is utterly quiet, his figure tall and unyielding like steel. Anders breathes in, breathes out and closes his eyes; he tastes death on his tongue and for once, it feels like freedom. There is something lingering in the air, something he cannot name, but it settles in the line of Fenris’ shoulders and back, the way his hand trembles when he lets go of the heavy broadsword that clatters down onto the ground. Fenris flexes his hands with lowered head, opens them, closes them, opens them, closes them, like the pincers of a crab. Finally, he stills with closed eyes and Anders can see him breathe in very deeply. In this moment, nothing and nobody else exists in the Hanged Man but them. When Fenris looks at him with a carefully blank face and strangely shiny eyes, Anders does not see anything but him, not their friends, not the corpses, not the blood, the death, the tragedy that always comes with violent closure. 

“I am free,” Fenris says and something rough tumbles along the edges of his voice, something he himself might not even notice, but Anders notices and Justice does as well. And oh, how he wants to spare him from this sick, twisted feeling of loss; how he wants to keep him safe from himself, tell him that there is nothing but victory that has happened today, nothing but finally chasing away the ghosts and chains of the past. But Anders knows how hard it is to let go of chains one has grown accustomed to, and he knows how sick and twisted one’s own mind can be, letting one mourn something that has hurt once, has hurt much and often. Anders wants to tell him that everything will be alright, that he is going to get into the right headspace, that he is going to be able to enjoy the joy, to fully let go and accept. 

Instead, he nods and opens his arms, Justice still crackling underneath his skin. There is a long moment where he thinks that Fenris is about to decline that offer, but then he comes, still glorious and bloody and elegant, and sad and mad at himself for being sad, and Anders aches for him because he knows it well, that feeling that can destroy you, the twisted love for something that has been forced upon oneself. Danarius is gone, but his influence still lingers. And yet: With every step Fenris takes, something changes in his face more and more, slowly evolving into something else – realization, acceptance, pride, a metamorphosis for the better. When he takes Anders’ hand, their eyes meet and lock into each other; equals they are, now more so than ever.

Equals they are, and Anders loves him, he loves him, he loves him.


	23. EPILOGUE: Fatum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, my lovelies, this is the end of "Metamorphosis". It has been a very exciting journey and I am happy that I was able to finish it! Thank you all for your support - your kudos, your comments, your bookmarks, your subscriptions, your passion for this story. I was amazed at all the love this story got and I am very grateful and happy for it, thank you all so very much!
> 
> And now, without much further ado - I present you "fatum" - fate, as this is what Fenris and Anders are for each other.

It is a lovely day when Fenris walks home. The sun is shining bright and for once, Ecclesiamurus does not seem to drown in crazy mages, weird Qunari, rather aggressive Christians or simply dumb people that do not seem to be able to get their shit together. Fenris carries a rather large basket full of fresh food in the crook of one arm; with the other hand, he eats an apple, a green one, his favorites. The apple is fresh and a little sour on his tongue, just the way he likes it best. On his way home he passes a lot of houses and people he knows well by now, which is no surprise since he has walked that exact route on several days of the week for over two years now, enough time to get well-known with most of the part of the city. Fenris smiles at the thought, finishes the apple – everything except for the stem because he really dislikes food going to waste – and tosses the stem on the side of the road. There is a broadsword hefted onto his back; by now, he does not even notice the weight anymore. 

When he comes home, Anders is already waiting for him.

This is nothing unusual, except it is. Anders rarely has the time to be with him that early in the evening since he is almost always busy in his new clinic. Fenris does not mind, not really; Anders does good work here and it keeps him busy enough to keep him from melancholy days. It is rather satisfying work and Fenris joins him there as often as he can – which is rather often, since Anders is still technically his dominus, but does not want anything from him, and Fenris has still not learned how to take up a hobby. Whenever he does not help Anders in the clinic, he usually is out with Hawke on one of his rather peculiar trips with their friends. And what a strange concept it is to have friends that like and support him, that accept him for who he is and not who he belongs to, people that try to understand and help him whenever he needs them to, people he genuinely cares about and likes enough to make sure that they are safe and well, even if he may not share some of their views. The possibility to debate and say his opinion out loud is wondrous enough; Danarius would have punished him severely for voicing his thoughts.

But Danarius is dead, and Anders is waiting for him barefoot and smiling.

There is something trembling in his chest when he sees him, something that has not stopped to be excited for Anders even after all these years. Times were not only always easy on them; there were severe fights and Fenris really does not like to remember then, even if all of them were necessary to bring them forward. In the end, all their have ever done is grow together, grow stronger and try their damned best to love each other. And Anders has been so good to him, always trying his best even though he has not always managed to stay calm and reasonable in their arguments – and even that is something Fenris loves about him because outbursts like those are glimpses of a younger, brasher Anders that has ceased to exist in his usual form years ago. 

Fenris smiles and quickens his pace when he sees that Anders looks especially nice today. His hair is carefully brushed and braided into the braids that are traditional among the Goths, and probably most surprising of all, he is wearing his toga, which he usually only does for formal and important events. That he is wearing it now seems odd and causes Fenris to frown a little. His lover does not seem to be worried, however, which means that whatever occasion led him to put on the toga maybe is at least not that bad.

“I missed you,” Anders greets him and wraps his arms around him. For a moment, Fenris allows himself to close his eyes and breathe in deeply Anders’ warm, familiar smell before he opens his eyes again and meets Hawke’s gaze. The man is leaning in the doorframe, one hand awkwardly holding the end of his toga in a way that clearly shows how unfamiliar he is with the piece of clothing, even more so than Anders, which is a skill in itself. Still, Hawke’s eyes twinkle with mirth that is echoed in his smile and his nod towards Fenris. There is an air of formality surrounding the two humans, but Fenris is neither afraid nor worried; he rarely ever is, these days. 

Instead, he lets go of Anders, looks at him intently, raises a brow and asks, “Are you trying to seduce me?” Because there are a lot of nice things he can come up with in regards of Anders in a toga. After all, it is just a piece of fabric wrapped around his body, barely held together by a brooch in the form of a gryphon and Anders’ right hand on his shoulder. Fenris allows his mind to wander and smirks wolfishly, earning an enthusiastic hard swallow from Anders and a hearty laughter from Hawke.

“No,” Hawke says with a small chuckle and a shake of his head, “No, this is all for you, but in a different matter. See, today is the day where you are going to be legally free as well.”

For a moment, Fenris does not understand what Hawke is telling him and looks to Anders, who meets his gaze with nothing but warmth and something like excitement in his smile. Then the realization sinks him and hits him hard; he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. They have talked about this often since freedom does not only come with advantages: As a liberatus, he is still going to be looked down on, without the full access to civil rights and without Anders being at least somewhat legally bound to keep him healthy – and then again, nobody in all of the Roman Empire really cares about slave rights anyways. Still, they had never settled on any final decision, mostly because on most days it did not really matter. That Anders intends to do it now… “I am…unprepared,” he brings out, closing his eyes when Anders gently touches his shoulder. “Do I need to do something special? Should I…”

“Everything is fine, you’re fine the way you are,” Anders assures him and strokes his hair, his cheek, his touches light and happy with deep, open joy. This apparently has been something he has wanted to do for a while now. Fenris wonders how he couldn’t see, wonders how he could end up with someone who gains so much happiness from Fenris’ contentment. He stands there in front of the house they call their own and looks at the lines of Anders’ face, the crow’s feet around his eyes, the traces of age around the corners of his mouth. 

They are going to get old together, and they are going to do it as two free men.


End file.
